"clementine" poems
Never thought I'd listen to Kodaline,
as I walk down the Memory Lane
Oh, Clementine
For when I was with you I've always been sane
You said you'd be at nine
But since you were no longer mine,
I spent all night with you in my mind
And glasses of champagne on my hand
Oh, Clementine
It's hard for me even to draw a line
Letting you go costs insanity I can't define
With countless loss of dopamine
But I guess if you're fine
I'd do my best not to intervene
Oh, Clementine
February 14th you're no longer my Valentine
Driving through the sreets I ran out of gasoline
But the time is due and I've come to the deadline
While sighing 'I'm done'
I know it's time for me to be gone
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
If there are infinite worlds,
there must be one where umbrellas never close-
hinges locked open like stubborn jaws,
gape-mouthed against walls in patient herds.
No one in their twenties owns one,
their hamster-cage apartments
too small for such luxuries.
They ask for rain jackets on birthdays.
Mary Poppins still drifts down Cherry Tree Lane,
her umbrella never folding,
only floating.
Children carry slips home
for violating umbrella laws,
forging signatures in loopy ink.
The Morton Salt girl wears a slicker,
yellow as a warning flare before the flood.
My mother walking me to kindergarten in rain,
transparent vinyl dome above our heads-
I, the opposite of a fish in its tank.
Her hair plastered to her forehead
by the time we reached the door.
Everyone looks most beautiful
with rainwater running down their face.
In the open-umbrella reality,
time can walk backward-
you can unwater a plant,
unpeel a clementine,
un-kiss someone.
Endings lift again,
fabric billowing, as if the story
had been left open in the wind.
Heather and Mike find the road out.
Rosemary tips the bassinet.
There, perhaps, neither of us was born.
What lay between us
stays open too long,
collecting rain until it sags,
slow and certain, like sugar
in the first storm.
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 8:06 PM UTC
I am but a single
dry dead leaf
laying beneath an endless willow tree
around the waters bend
close to the toadstool pow-wows
only inhabited by the faeries.
& the moon- she still shine,
captured but by a sphere, yet so free
her light may breathe
a chilling, frigid touch
between the memories you
have buried so deep.
So please do not fret your wondrous mind
over all of your insecurities,
though she may shine with a chilling reminder
I promise that in your eyes
a beautiful soul
is all she sees.
As my mind races I feel
I am unable to describe
the exact emotion you
have gently
injected into my mind.
My eyelids grow heavy
my minds afloat to space
all that is left in my world as I know it,
is the perfection on your face
You see darling,
I am a hija de la luna;
the stars will align with
Castor & Pollux
Cancer, Aphrodite, & Fortuna.
They greet me as old friends,
join me in my nights of fantasy.
tell me darling what do these strange constellations mean?
Oh how I pity thy cataracts
eyes white & glassy
but I promise the warmth will melt your frozen gaze
& in time, you will see.
The horizon shifts as I do to you,
how long do you wish to be at sea?
Alas, you know my poison
doubt seeps into my skin
like an 80 patch.
Through thick & thin,
even on the sorest of feet
I will skip merrily along your path.
Round my head I gaze,
The sky has been stained
with fuchsia & clementine
among the blues.
tell me again, how may I find your presence within the hues?
Wrap yourself within my blanket
of ease & security.
Trust me with your life or not,
for I want to be
there, when you most
need me
You cannot help
you are a broken bird
I cannot deny my psyche as it worries
*does a dove not care about her nest back home
when she soars above
the sea?*
Next to the beating arrhythmia
you try hold dear ‘twixt your ribs
my favourite poem of yours has changed
where I will weave a small nest
dream of your lips
& the sound of rain.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
by: MissPine
Confidante — that's what I am seeking.
Over a thousand tears are still falling.
Longing for what they called love.
Only time could tell how it is tough.
Rollercoaster rides of painful stuff.
Come to me, Oh Clementine!
Omniscient I may be, but I am just a teen.
Dry my eyes as well as this heart of mine.
Empty my mind from thoughts once hide.
Dream about love is just like a tide.
Confident I am in this journey called life.
Rushed imaginations end not be by knife.
Unveiling on what I always been aiming.
Stop for seconds, guess I'm still dreaming.
Hope this be the last game I'm playing.
Who is that confidante I am looking?
The 'Color-coded Crush' who I'm loving.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
the surprisingly sweetest clementine
2016
amidst
the marble and stone pillars
of the museum's fifth avenue grand hall,
a woman grows faint and woozy,
and the Egyptian artifacts five thousand years old,
re-proved as reusable, sustainable,
as leaning-against-posts
for the dizzy
the boyfriend well familiar
with dehydration side effects,
from pocket pulls a natural pill of
a sweet clementine,
restoring the well
to the good
she marvels at
how came I
to place a survival kit in my
coat pocket?
smiling, he confesses
his fondness for
providing
for all her needs,
known and unknown
even carries an inventory,
with back ups to back ups,
assorted sundries,
he calls it,
proving his point too well,
reaching into the other
pocket and offering
yet another,
a second helping
for his,
oh my darling,
sweetest clementine
she, undecided,
laugh or cry,
both equally attractive amazement solutions,
says only:
I love you for reasons,
known and unknown,
now,
take me home
for reasons
now known,
and others,
as of yet,
most happily,
unknown
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
You smell like burnt clementines
and flow like strawberry wine
Pick at my icy veins with your icepick heart
your hands filled with light, and my veins spilling dark
Lay with me in a white lace bed
close your eyes and rest your head
Let me smell your burnt clementine skin
and wash my hands in your strawberry wine again
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
there is a general reason
as to why her name fits her.
whenever you look at her beauty,
all you can mutter is
oh my darling, oh my darling
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
I am melting into a dream of tangerines;
Falling, passing the branches of citrus blossoms that once were.
I land on a rigid peel,
the brightest orange in the colored pencil set.
There are indents in the skin,
depressions, each belonging to a different story,
this tangerine has been through a lot.
**From a young bud,
to a ripe fruit,
it has grown.**
Do not make the mistake of calling it an orange, or a clementine,
it is not.
It is a tangerine.
Peeling it almost sounds like a symphony.
Inch by inch, the orchestral rhythm plays off,
until you are slicing it, accidentally rupturing its walls,
in that moment, it sounds like a little boy, who doesn’t quite understand why it’s encouraged to chew with your mouth closed.
A tangerine,
each segment of it looks like half a pair of healthy lungs,
pure, and fresh.
It is a surprise when you bite into it.
Realize, the prettiest things are not always the sweetest,
they can be a little tangy, a little sour.
The taste bouncing off the inside of your mouth like it is a trampoline.
Realize, it is a tangerine;
**from a young bud,
to a ripe fruit,
it has grown.**
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
Lieing on my body is my soft little feline
So cute and sweet like a flower of clementine
I pet Young Gunther softly as he stares into my eyes
I however was yet to meet my despise
The claws came out all sharp and about
Blood everywhere as I fought him throughout
Feeling such pain I fought back the best I could
His speed however was misunderstood
Bleeding out I grabbed the phone
In mid-brawl I began to crawl
Dialing 911 to save my life
At this point even a knife would not suffice
Nearly dead the ambulance arrived
Deprived and hurt I continued to cry
"Why Gunther, why?"
I was put on to a stretcher and taken away
Gunther running he escaped in some way
In the ER with little blood left
No hope in my mind remains about to be swept
Into a can and in a number of minutes
My fatality occurred
Words were slurred
And I died slowly painfully and without any last words
But "Oh Young Gunther, you little ****
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
“He used to love me,
and now
he’s just a stranger
who happens to know
all my secrets.”
By Clementine Von Radics
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
I am tired of being an empty shell that you find beautiful & eccentric.
I am tired of being a trope made by authors and directors.
I am like war and peace and not like a tissue paper you made me out to be.
I am tired of being your favourite shade of red.
I am tired of being a brush stroke, when I am the entire painting.
I am tired of being pinned to a pedestal.
I am tired of my existence and my name being relative.
I am tired of being a zany sidekick to the male protagonist in the movie that is my life.
I am tired of you thinking that I need help stilling the edges of my narrative, who longs for a tether or a buoy to keep her from flying off or sinking down.
I am tired of being told – unconventional, different and other such synonyms by boys, that I am not like other girls as if they are a disease and I am magic.
I am tired to be known as someone with wacky quirks and idiosyncrasies.
I am tired of being Alaska Young.
I am tired of being Sam from The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
I am tired of being Tiffany from The Silver Linings Playbook.
I am tired of being tagged as Sam from Garden State.
Or even Marla Singer from Fight Club.
Or even an Amelie or Penny from Almost Famous.
And every Zooey Deschanel character.
I am a Clementine.
I’m a Sylvia Plath.
I’m a Dorothy Parker.
A Maya and a Margaret.
You see, I am well versed
in death and in silence.
I have my interests and I am like all of the above. But I am “like” them. I am not them.
I am me.
I am scared now.
Scared of boys claiming to be wrapped in barbed wire
but is really a caged petting animal in the zoo.
I am tired of boys who thinks romance is a Hemingway novel.
But, most importantly I am tired.
Tired of men not falling in love with me
but instead falling in love with the idea of me.
Nomoreokaythankyouplease.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
This One Time,
I stripped naked
and ****** my couch.
This other time
I threw a copy of The Fountainhead
at an RV moving at 64 miles an hour
I have a tree
In the foothills
named Clementine Valencia Jeff
and the same day, me and John
made a religion with Adam based
on cloud formations
You see, I'm a weird guy
I got
I got problems
I see a therapist
Her name's Rhonda
She likes Batmaa aaaaan
She sees people worse than me
but recognizes I got problems
and she
she tries to help
cause
cause I got problems
and the
and the problem
with having problems
is
is function
You
You can't do anything
You live to defy expectation
And - and it's really hard
to get into college
You never really get accepted
and and
and even if
even if you do you
you
you never really accept that
It's hard out there for a freak
I get lost within my own
ridiculous quandaries
You feel like you're not
you're not built right
like something's wrong
and you just punch and
and kick and
and destroy
Whatever feels des-
destroy able because it gives
purpose
Bu
But I finally think I -I
found my mantra
My my
My compass thing
My map whatever
It has the same number of
letters of something very very dear
to me
and
and that holds meaning
I
I wrote it on the back of my door
my door
and- and I sprayed it on a
shirt
I actually got it from a videogame with
with a
with Ayn Randian themes
It's religious
and
and every night now
before I go to sleep
I
I- I look into Neil Patrick Harris's
eyes
feel the warmth of my wonderful blanket
admire some handiwork
read about serial arson
close my eyes and tell myself
She is our Salvation
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 2:05 PM UTC
A mere three poems you have posted
and I sense something like beauty
in your lines
Something exactly like beauty
A hint of pain,
but every indication of self-betterment
through self-reflection
and direct (non-)action
as you feel the edge
but do not press it through
which I hope you continue not to do
And although I have never
drawn my own blood
I find myself touching things
just to see how they feel;
my intent, to escape anything real
So I imagine you experience life
in a similar way
Small escapes whenever you can,
but questioning whether something's
wrong with your head
And the agony of loss;
your cells certainly remain
And your mention of tampons
brings to mind for me
that my last love's last remaining
evidence of our time
is a ****** wrapper that stayed
in my trash for months,
even survived a move
and now rests in a big bag
ready to go out.
Surely, you are still with him
somewhere in his life.
You are not disgusting,
of that I am sure
We all have our secrets
And those of us who hide them all
are the disgusting,
because you find them out
when it hurts the most
And as I bring this piece to a close,
I see you have revealed two more of your own,
further revealing your heart and its beauty,
as you give to a man who has a heart like my own
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
The sun setting in the East
Sparkling silver lining spread
Across the edges of color
Layering the clementine sky
Creamy daisy,
Heating up to orange,
Then the red-hot center.
Cooled only by the expanse of salty spray
Allowing for the mellow shades of
Rosy pink cheeks
To flush the clouds,
Then shy away into a lavender
And sapphire night sky
The iridescent shimmering
Lunar bliss.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
Clementine deleted Joel
from her mind. Joel tried to
forget her; he couldn't, so
he got rid of her too. You
try, I know, to get rid of me. I
try, you know, to pretend that
the world isn't spinning so fast
in the hope
that we will fall of its spinning-top edge
and stumble, clumsily, gracelessly, into
each other. We're spinning so fast with it-
the world- so this is unlikely, so we both
pretend that it's an accident when we fall
into each other,
again and again, as
We play spin the bottle while
The world spins instead.
Suddenly.
Now that that same world has stilled itself for
us: we don't know what to do without its
rotationary madness angling us
towards old age and crumpets (together?). That
same world has stilled itself until
tomorrow when that same world will spill
itself out from day to night to day again
as we take our respective first drafts
of our poems written about each other
and
Edit.
out that same mad spin
that made us
us
just like
Joel and Clementine forgot-
on purpose. We forget, on purpose
with purpose
but,
we'll still meet each other in Montauk where
that same world will still itself
as we wrap our fingers around each other's
fingers
in the cold
where you might finally reciprocate
my lacklustre
confessions.
You too,
right?
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
When we last chatted from this "small village" CLINGING" to the side of this steep hill,,,I SPOKE OF Flashing -pulsating Markings on the side of 5' by 5' containers. LIKE Pirates treasure chests ,Years in the searching. Each WITH A "SINGLE-EMBLAZENED" letter and a "W A R N I N G " in SMALL=CAPS just below, that simply said ___" OPEN AND SHARE ". Yes, it too like the other contained MILLIONS OF FOLDED parchment squares... EACH..YES EACH,,"ONLY" WITH THE LETTER " C ". SO,,,I SHARE....! ! ! (#1)= CLEMENTINE-MAP= "Detailed directions for those people who REALLY want to get away from it all!!! (#2)= CHINCHBUG-PAINTER= The person with ability to bring out the FULL color of YOU CHEEKS ,as they REMOVE the TINIEST of your faults and others see ONLY YOUR Beauty.! ! (#3)= CANOPY-CLUSTERER= The Person who makes a complete shambles of that which you had JUST PUT into order *UNDER the Heading of "Good-Intentions".! ! (#4)=CAUTION-BLURTER= The Person who is afraid to try anything, If they CAN'T SAY they have ALREADY DONE=IT. How DARE YOU think YOU might do it or have it **FIRST! ! (#5)= CRUSH-OINTMENT= Little Droplets Placed on AREAS and FEELINGS that are Stepped on by the INTRUSION OF Others who " WHO WANT YOU * F L A T *.... ***** INSTRUCTIONS ALSO SAY =MEMORIZE EACH,,THEN WE MOVE ON ! "W O W" A WHOLE CASE Of " C's "___
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 3:48 AM UTC
The fireside retreats
into the wall
as another TV Christmas special repeats,
with its sound echoing in the hall.
Tangerine,
Satsuma,
Clementine-Orange
peel litters the tabletop;
orange runway for the action figures,
plastic arms, moulded hairs.
Nina Simone plays loud,
'Nobody Knows When You're Down And Out',
Christmas is over,
and now there's nowt to do.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
Toutes les histoires sont comme un miroir,
Deux faces, deux versions, deux reflets.
Pourtant le notre ne me montre que ce que je veux voir,
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, notre miroir est brisé.
Cette nuit j'ai dessiné ton visage sur mes rêves, à la craie
Ce matin ta peau était encore collée à ma joue
J'ai essayé de t'arracher, mais tu étais enfoncée comme un clou,
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, je n'arrive pas à t'effacer.
Tu restes là sans être présente,
Ta voix me répète encore que "j'ai dû me tromper"
J'avoue avoir eu tort de penser que tu m'avais laissée
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, ton fantôme me hante.
Mon étoile brille encore moins que tes émeraudes
Nos erreurs m'agressent, comme nos insultes en écho
Ce n'était pas prévu que tout se termine dans un tel chaos
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide pour réparer ce désordre.
J'ai lutté de toutes mes forces pour te chasser de mon esprit,
Mais tu reviens à la charge, le soir juste avant de dormir
Toute seule avec ta voix qui me guide pour écrire,
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, tu me fais sombrer dans la folie.
Aujourd'hui j'ai tellement peur que tu ne veuilles plus que je revienne,
Et je ne suis même pas sûre de le vouloir moi-même
Je me fais encore du mal, mais on récolte ce que l'on sème
Au secours, j'ai besoin d'aide, je voulais juste que tu me retiennes.
Ton ombre me suit partout en chantant Clementine,
Mais il n'y a plus d'éveil aux émeraudes depuis longtemps
Le silence me rend muette, je ne respire plus comme avant
J'ai dérivé ; au secours, j'ai besoin d'Aide..line.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Sip a lonely dosage.
Click the Bick.
Wear a lovely personage.
Ready the pressure.
Throat clenching.
Eyes forever.
Without you,
I'm turpentine.
Wasn't I clever.
Wasn't I?
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:52 AM UTC
in a workshop i wrote
about a boy who kissed me
after i told him not to.
in the piece i called
myself Clementine.
admitting that i was
kissed without permission
seemed so much easier
than not misgendering myself
in front of fifty people.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
i no longer have
clementine
the tangle-haired capricorn woman
made of fire and ice, skin like drunken showers,
when she smokes, its like she breathes in
dawn
for the first time.
no
cherry,
with soft skin like cream
off fresh milk.
when she smokes
dimples drown in her cheeks
and the smoke swims out
like dancers in the breeze.
no more
veronica,
soft voice, shaky like daisies in the wind,
spring grass,
when she smokes its a gesture of allure,
she invites a kiss with an
edge
of a
tobacco
scream.
je t'aime,
my wild creatures,
i will rage against the cold grip of authority
with the kicking feet
you know i have
until
we can rule over our little
smoldering town
and walk on
coals once
more.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC