"cinammon" poems - Hello Poetry

Rainy summer day, storming actually The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself drift off to sleep Still despite the navy skies It was still summer summer means peaches big ones, bursting, dripping honey nectar and sunshine so we make a peach pie cinammon and sugar sticking to our fingers like slow molasses underscored by the constant drip, slip, flooding arranging produce like composers and we waited we waited for the pie to bake we waited for the crust to crisp, for the sugars to melt, for the peaches to ripen, to brown and butter we waited for the rain to stop we waited for sunshine, for dry shoes, for beach days, powerlines we waited for hours we waited for months we waited eighteen years we sat, and we stood, and we waited. We sat in front of the oven eyes pressed against the window we waited watched the sugars bubble, the scented cloves we were two years old and one hundred at the same time we waited for the kind of lives that we saw in movies the kinds of dreams you wanted so bad it hurt we waited with stomachs churning wasting our youth, one rainy afternoon at a time waiting for life to begin Rainy summer day, storming actually The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself forget about the peaches forget about summer, about friends, about anyone and anything drift off to sleep

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Jul 13, 2013

Jul 13, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC

jamie-cohen

Rain Peaches

Rainy summer day, storming actually The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself drift off to sleep Still despite the navy skies It was still summer summer means peaches big ones, bursting, dripping honey nectar and sunshine so we make a peach pie cinammon and sugar sticking to our fingers like slow molasses underscored by the constant drip, slip, flooding arranging produce like composers and we waited we waited for the pie to bake we waited for the crust to crisp, for the sugars to melt, for the peaches to ripen, to brown and butter we waited for the rain to stop we waited for sunshine, for dry shoes, for beach days, powerlines we waited for hours we waited for months we waited eighteen years we sat, and we stood, and we waited. We sat in front of the oven eyes pressed against the window we waited watched the sugars bubble, the scented cloves we were two years old and one hundred at the same time we waited for the kind of lives that we saw in movies the kinds of dreams you wanted so bad it hurt we waited with stomachs churning wasting our youth, one rainy afternoon at a time waiting for life to begin Rainy summer day, storming actually The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself forget about the peaches forget about summer, about friends, about anyone and anything drift off to sleep

41

i ate a tin of cinammon mints for breakfast and a plate of middle eastern pickles for lunch and will probably swallow my pride for dinner i am never sure i know what love is because i am always falling deeper into it

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May 14, 2014

May 14, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC

resonantbellworld

meals

i ate a tin of cinammon mints for breakfast and a plate of middle eastern pickles for lunch and will probably swallow my pride for dinner i am never sure i know what love is because i am always falling deeper into it

6

I lost myself in the stories in the newspapers, and the coffee he poured me because he thought I needed something, but I did not order a thing. I lost myself in the fuschia flower in her hair, over her left ear, but, my left ear didnt have a flower, and, come to think of it, it probably never would. I drank my coffee, black, because I didn't know any better, and watched the lovers fight over buttered crossiants and cinammon lattes with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. My knuckles felt like typewriters, but, for once in my life I wasn't writing. I was hardly thinking, I was hardly speaking even. I lost myself in the low music and guitar coming from inside the cafe because, unlike me, it was beautiful and soft, and lovely. He poured me more coffee even though I didnt want it, and, gave me a crossiant, "on the house." Who would think to give, an observer something lovely? But I had accepted it because mother always said "be kind." I lost myself in silver eyes, or, were they golden? I hardly remember but I lost myself in them. And I didn't know why. I fell in love at a coffee shop where, I counted change, like quarters and dimes and anything to give him something worth keeping. I fell in at a coffee shop because life was beautiful and people didn't know me here at all so, they couldn't follow me home.

0

Jul 30, 2013

Jul 30, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC

alyssa-rose-n

Falling in love at a Coffee Shop

I lost myself in the stories in the newspapers, and the coffee he poured me because he thought I needed something, but I did not order a thing. I lost myself in the fuschia flower in her hair, over her left ear, but, my left ear didnt have a flower, and, come to think of it, it probably never would. I drank my coffee, black, because I didn't know any better, and watched the lovers fight over buttered crossiants and cinammon lattes with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. My knuckles felt like typewriters, but, for once in my life I wasn't writing. I was hardly thinking, I was hardly speaking even. I lost myself in the low music and guitar coming from inside the cafe because, unlike me, it was beautiful and soft, and lovely. He poured me more coffee even though I didnt want it, and, gave me a crossiant, "on the house." Who would think to give, an observer something lovely? But I had accepted it because mother always said "be kind." I lost myself in silver eyes, or, were they golden? I hardly remember but I lost myself in them. And I didn't know why. I fell in love at a coffee shop where, I counted change, like quarters and dimes and anything to give him something worth keeping. I fell in at a coffee shop because life was beautiful and people didn't know me here at all so, they couldn't follow me home.

41

White gardens smell like cinammon

0

Mar 23, 2015

Mar 23, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC

hebe-garibay

Untitled

White gardens smell like cinammon

3

You drown in my sea of thoughts It's not fair.... All i wanted is to have a silly crush on you Maybe Instead i got was the falling feeling at the bottom of my stomach and headaches... Your glistening cinammon skin and your smile. Oh that smile that makes me want to drown for eternity. The worst part is these feelings are unrequited So there i will stay in the blank spot of pain Where all of your thoughts go As hard as i try i can't fight it...why?? Because it's you..

0

Jun 11, 2015

Jun 11, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC

chasingyou

why

You drown in my sea of thoughts It's not fair.... All i wanted is to have a silly crush on you Maybe Instead i got was the falling feeling at the bottom of my stomach and headaches... Your glistening cinammon skin and your smile. Oh that smile that makes me want to drown for eternity. The worst part is these feelings are unrequited So there i will stay in the blank spot of pain Where all of your thoughts go As hard as i try i can't fight it...why?? Because it's you..

12

There we were, all three of us With triangle flags proudly flying team colors: red alternating with black, hung above our heads The sky displayed a golden overcast and 90's glow, we immersed ourselves in the misty chlorine rain, created out of sunset teenage days, we indulged in the vintage filtered vibes that were formed of summer storms, We remained treading in fluorescent blues until the leftover orange, lemon-yellow, and soft peach colors of the afterstorm flooded into the foggy pool, ...and there were chapped lips--cinammon sweet, water-worn fingers, and stinging red eyes hidden behind Ray Bans. Their daydream smiles were two weeks behind, brimming with nostalgia of a previous decade ... I miss them like spring--they're already gone, don't they dare to linger on me like afternoon heat, causing glassy water to absorb a fading season's warmth But soon evenings will go cold and the afternoon air will turn to college sweatshirt nights, and a fleeting season that can never exist will leave me behind, even though I don't want it to... (Babe, your summer lasts a year longer than mine ever will)

0

Jul 24, 2016

Jul 24, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC

kaycog

Life Guards Off The Clock

There we were, all three of us With triangle flags proudly flying team colors: red alternating with black, hung above our heads The sky displayed a golden overcast and 90's glow, we immersed ourselves in the misty chlorine rain, created out of sunset teenage days, we indulged in the vintage filtered vibes that were formed of summer storms, We remained treading in fluorescent blues until the leftover orange, lemon-yellow, and soft peach colors of the afterstorm flooded into the foggy pool, ...and there were chapped lips--cinammon sweet, water-worn fingers, and stinging red eyes hidden behind Ray Bans. Their daydream smiles were two weeks behind, brimming with nostalgia of a previous decade ... I miss them like spring--they're already gone, don't they dare to linger on me like afternoon heat, causing glassy water to absorb a fading season's warmth But soon evenings will go cold and the afternoon air will turn to college sweatshirt nights, and a fleeting season that can never exist will leave me behind, even though I don't want it to... (Babe, your summer lasts a year longer than mine ever will)

10

My boy cinnamon, He is Aromatic An Asian beauty that tingles the senses inside and out A wondrous being that fills my life with such flavour that I wonder how I had not noticed how bland it was before Cinnamon I may not have tasted you nor felt you yet between my fingers But you are still mine and always will be, my boy cinnamon

0

Jun 29, 2016

Jun 29, 2016 at 9:59 AM UTC

heliza-rose

My boy cinammon

My boy cinnamon, He is Aromatic An Asian beauty that tingles the senses inside and out A wondrous being that fills my life with such flavour that I wonder how I had not noticed how bland it was before Cinnamon I may not have tasted you nor felt you yet between my fingers But you are still mine and always will be, my boy cinnamon

6