"colada" poems
I need one more
I need to forget a little more
I need to remember a little less
I need to remember a lot more
I just need to remember it differently
Better
The way I wrote it
The way it ends when I'm sleeping
Dear bartender
Make it a White Russian
As white as her dress would've been
One Pina Colada
Tan as the sand would've been
One more Gin and Tonic
Sparkling as her eyes
***** Cranberry
Red as her lips
A triple shot of silver tequila
As clear as my intentions
Marry me
Bartender I want to drink until I forget she said no
Bartender I want to drink until I forget I ever asked
Dear Bartender I want to drink until I remember she said yes
***** til my head rings wedding bells
Gin til my body ticks raw rice
*** til my cheeks flush honeymoon
Tequila til my ring finger itches
Whiskey until she loves me too
Whiskey until she come back
Whiskey
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
Coconut
The tree of heaven
In the light
Of a song
About fruits of paradise
Piña colada
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
You smile when you see me writing
tenably watching like a child
when I turn my prose into rhyming
I smile back: "this one's about you"
when I kissed you this morning
I suddenly realized you taste just like fruit.
Like a Pineapple, of all things considered
sweeter than a whole bunch of grapes
your skirt flaunts your skittles
and your legs take the proverbial cake
Piña Colada to go with my Enchilada
pretty please let me taste the rainbow?
I don't like Pineapple on my burger
on my pizza I don't feel it either
my taste buds become a bitter turbulent river
but I just love it on you,
that little thing that you do
dancing in that lil' grass skirt
make it our own Hawaiian Luau.
Your juicy lips
are a 100% from concentrate
like drinking from a can of Dole
blowing me a kiss, giving me a smooch
please drown me in them
a Pineapple falls ways far from an Apple
and SpongeBob lives in one of them.
From your eyes to your thighs
I think of way back when
my favorite fruit in the garden
you humbly became
it's been just peachy from there on end.
With the words we shared
as we laid in the hay
your laughter intoxicated my lungs
right down to my pores
and through my veins
and that's a good thing
always a good thing
put your hair up
the mirror loves a silly face
your sly smile for the camera
my photogenic exotic babe.
Endangered in this world
you are the only one of your kind
like an extinct Dodo Bird
please stay by my side
and let me one thing in you confide
that the forbidden fruit wasn't an Apple
alas, unknown to Adam
it was a Pineapple.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:35 PM UTC
Random Sampling
Coughing up a lung,
sticking out my tongue.
Looking up her skirt,
dropped my pencil in the dirt.
Watching movies just for fun,
I will never own a gun.
Cat **** on the floor,
kicked it out the door.
Jake The Snake and The Macho Man,
will forever be a wresting fan.
Heavy metal and hard rock,
Skid Row's singer was Sebastian Bach.
New Jersey's pizza is the best,
it would beat New York's in any taste test.
Slept with girls, I didn't like,
soon after, I made them take a hike.
Never slept with a man,
if the money was right, I guess I can.
Love all my family and friends,
mess with them and I will defends.
Done some killer drugs,
stuck screwdrivers in some plugs.
I love paper, I love pen,
I'm more smart than the Three Wise Men.
Pina Colada's in Margaitaville,
then I take the bitter pill.
I still love eighties music,
it's relaxing and therapeutic.
Baseball is my favorite sport,
the Phillies, I will always support.
The next Super Bowl will be held in San Quentin,
***** girls take it on the chin.
I had a few nervous breakdowns,
I've put on a few to many pounds.
Allen does what Allen wants,
how's that for my final response.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Most days I wear flip-flops because I am too lazy to wear socks,
and I like the feeling of summer somewhere close to me,
and I like to watch my feet move. Do you know, there
are so many small little bones in there! it amazes me.
My mom used to massage my feet to wake me up.
She's been the best foot-massager of all, better than all the friends
and the boyfriends. Better than the early morning
sleepy-satisfying stretches, better than the feeling of sunlit
warm wood on my bare feet. Better than grass. Her calloused hands,
and softly hummed melodies. Tattooed arms, faded turquoise. Sun on her
skin. If I could see my mom in myself every time I looked in the mirror
I think I would be relaxed. I would play more music. I would spend
my next paycheck taking a day off with a pina colada and
tattooing a turtle, on my foot, just like hers.
Flexing my feet. Cold night air. Flip-flopping on the concrete. I wish
I could dive into the ocean, ice-cold, something worth laughing into
the nighttime. So much seriousness all the time, I think that people
need to eat more butter and not take skin to mean so much.
Silly, really, I guess. But a Mom-massage might just mean the world
sometimes. And smiling with someone is like a Mom-massage, right when I need it most.
To everyone who's been there, thank you.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
I don't think I'm a very nice person.
Dead people can have *******
The weirdest part of this morning was the tropical bird that was road **** but I thought was a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, in London.
Always ******* up, ******* up all ways.
I'm your green grocer.
Mental collapse is quite close.
**** my ****
A gale of wind.
Sitting by a canal in the sun with a coffee at 7am.
My time is now.
That isn't sarcastic, it's brilliant.
I saw a werewolf drinking a Piña Colada .
Need an adventure.
like peas in a pub.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
"Werewolves Of London"
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for the place called Lee ** Fook's
Going to get a big dish of beef chow mein
Werewolves of London
If you hear him howling around your kitchen door
Better not let him in
Little old lady got mutilated late last night
Werewolves of London again
Werewolves of London
He's the hairy handed gent who ran amuck in Kent
Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair
Better stay away from him
He'll rip your lungs out, Jim
I'd like to meet his tailor
Werewolves of London
Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw Lon Chaney, Jr. walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's
His hair was perfect
Werewolves of London again
Draw blood
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
Into the blender-
Pineapple juice, half a carton
Ice, a handful
Coconut cream, a well shaken tin
Bacardi, a goodly dollop
Justine says
I should add half an eggwhite
For the froth
But how the hell do you halve an egg white
So I leave it out.
A few seconds unholy racket
And it’s ready to pour
Into my favourite thick heavy glass
Put the pitcher in the fridge
And take on impulse.
****** good
Brings back a tiled balcony in Puerto Vallarta
A small boy wearing an iguana
Tricia Lambert
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
Passing Tweetsie on my way home from work.
In the Food Lion, low-calorie chicken soup
cans under tinny lights.
Sick-green avocados and riding-hood bacon
celebrated the day all your shoes moved in.
Can't we pair those together again?
The blank space on the floor
like a good friend's face seen
without glasses,
washed out.
Frustratingly,
the smell of my own laundry.
mi colada es su colada
Ha!
By the pond, the gazebo we never spent time in
but might have.
The dusk-dark evergreens with delicate lace tips
like spidery lingerie
leggings ripped wide open,
lingering,
recovered from the trash can.
Rainbow polka-dot gift wrap
on my light-blue chest,
flagship of her left-behinds;
A tawny feather earring, the lonely fore-mast
lacking a mate
and
Demure winter-cabin-smile, framed:
green scarf turned seaweed,
the face-down figurehead drowns.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
walking with wedges always seems like the best, until
you’re walking home at seven in the morning.
i still taste cold pizza and the pina colada hookah.
i waited for you to breathe me in like the vapors,
youth has never tasted so beautiful, love.
i used to think i was the period in every sentence,
but you’re the comma and i’m the semi colon,
we’re never ending, sticking between awkward
phrases and short cut
sentences.
he never sunk his teeth so deep, and i am so bruised
i think my bones are bleeding.
youth has never tasted so beautiful, love.
i did not feel alive until five in the morning, when all i could feel
were his fingers digging in my cells, searching for everything
i thought i could never become.
i never felt this alive in his arms, and now i see all he did
was pull the blindfold until i saw inky blackness,
pushed the pillow in my mouth as i continue to cough up chunks.
let me run through the soggy leaves, breathing in the crisp air until
i collapse.
youth has never tasted so ******* beautiful,
love
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
Purple hibiscus,
gathered from depth of the woods.
Serpents, in the wild,
captured for haute couture.
Coffee beans,
defecated by civets.
Foie gras, caviar, champagne flutes,
Evian, sipping her piña colada,
getting her tan.
Serpent’s skin,
rubbing elbows,
with the alta sociedad,
plucking her eyebrows,
rouging her lips.
" And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil. "
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
No muses need apply.
There are no vacancies.
The muse pool is brimming
With metaphors:
*They are thieves
In the night,
Absconding stars
Of time and direction.*
No muses need apply
To classifieds calling
To The Lonely Hearts,
Whose term has expired.
*SWM desiring SWF
for Pina Colada.
Cave optional.*
Lonliness has carried them
To the gates, where
Lonliness awaits.
No. No muses neep apply.
Notes no longer passed
Between rows
In copy-book pages,
Where a returned smile
Meant Sarturday night.
No muses need apply.
Eyes have dried.
No more similies
As you depart,
No figures of speech
From muted heart.
You have left,
And that's a start.
No muses need apply.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
The grand ambition of love is to find “the one.”
and, of course, to be the one.
It’s a hard combo.
Finding someone amiable, who’s the best lover, your best friend,
confidant, emotional companion, intellectual equal and soulmate.
And, of course, it helps if ‘the one’ likes to dance
and has a little piña colada money too.
And when do you know you've been successful - in year 50?
It’s the holy grail, the age-old dilemma of love and desire.
.
.
A song for this:
Bullet and a Target by Citizen Cope
Wait Another Moment by The Bingtones
Jul 20, 2024
Jul 20, 2024 at 7:03 PM UTC
~
Cast among the downpour,
gates beneath dark clouds left open
The creek is rising, drowning underbrush
darkening tree trunks
moving swiftly the discarded
Collected at the walls of this home
stone and mortar slowly crumble
From a desperate vantage point
overlooking nature’s angry powers
I see a shape, a silhouetted aura,
eyelet gown of gold stitch, woven ribbon dreams
Mahogany hair flowing, eyes captivating,
floating atop muddied raging waters,
directing the flow with blown kiss persuasion
Swept away, barely a breath remains,
swallowing life in murderous gulps
Flailing intoxicated waves, undertow’s grasp…
when a hand reaches, fingers interlock
Glazing blue skies whisper in sunlit reflections,
ocean breezes soothe washed out tides,
as a sand dollar wishes on a seashell
Upon this beach I am now safe within her heartbeat,
tasting her Pina Colada lips, warm and sweet
I drink in her flavour neath palm tree shadows,
cool in the heat, but hot of her skin, salty, wet
and my heart hears the glistening, tingling my senses
drenching me in desire’s hard to contain,
as I endlessly drown in her perfect love
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
A slow ritual of praying at her bare feet had begun on the occasion of the first time he saw her apply chapstick —
the linoleum floor wiped with acetone, her cucumber skin, sacred red, bleach white and oiled slick.
He found that it suited him to be that close to her black toe nail polish, his eyelashes lying perfectly on the glossy finish
and even as he kissed the paleness of her soft marbled skin, all he saw was black as his eyes fell shut with hers.
They dreamt of perfect oceans and places inside the piña colada glasses where nasty secrets didn’t seem all that bad.
~ fin ~
– Martha Grace Hsieh and Daniel J. Flore III
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
You see red
This has gotten out of our head
I see you
I feel you
Your here next to me
It’s like we're under the sea
Your fingers discover my waist
Making me feel embraced
Your lips discover my soul
We have control
Our bodies dance in the moonlight
Perfectly tight
It’s us and only us
**** the world
You push your hair back
Then we attack
You say this is happiness
Not because I’m barely dressed
Just because I’m yours
Because we’re our favourite flavours
Your skin tastes like pina colada
Let’s worry about nada
My soul so delicate
So far from hate
Destiny brought us here
You kiss away my fear
Pump up our love
It’s like our drug
You may be a wanted man
But tonight you're just my man
Let’s play with fire
Let’s keep going higher
It’s all for love
Fly me above
I love all the words you said
While I was kissing your neck
Aug 2, 2020
Aug 2, 2020 at 1:25 PM UTC
.
Beyond the border of withering dreams,
blue skies and ribbons played as
poolside wishes slept in the cabana
Winter followed the guards
while north of here braced for another
stranger to walk through the gate
Beauty sat on the rim waiting for
dark features of sun tanned wisdom
to sing sonnets of warmer climates
But the intense glare of a protective sun
blinded her ability to see as her pina colada
melted and ice formed in her eyes
Nothing left now but a shadow walking
beneath the umbrella shading her fading smile
as summer came and went without even a wink
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
In the Pouring rain...
As the wind blows...
Lightning flashes in the darkest indigo sky...
These are the moments I'm consumed by you....
In the sunny heat of the day...
Floating in a cerulean pool...
Sipping a Pina colada...
These are the moments that I miss you...
In the dark of the night...
With the window open...
As I curl up in my cornflower sheets...
These are the moments that you cross my mind...
In the rising dawn...
At 3 am ...
The silent waking hours...
These are the moments when I wonder where you are...
In a crowded room...
Full of laughter with people I love...
Enjoying life...
These are the moments that I wish you were here....
I think of you in all the moments of my life....
E.J.M.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
when the nicotine from the black & mild
and the extra shots from the extra pina colada daiquiri downed
(because who can pass up two for one drinks on tuesdays)
and the taste of his bearded lips on mine
finally wear off and subside,
I'm forced to feel the ache I've been so desperately trying to numb and push away
Sometimes things don't work out just the way you thought they would
and not everything that appears to feel good feels good
and ending things seems sad then fine and freeing to teetering on the line
and tongues don't line up but single file is for preschoolers anyway
and happiness is an illusion and a concept I can't grasp
because the idea and the craving of having your hand in mine gets me through the night still but while I held it I felt like my father with arthritic joints and I couldn't ball my fists tight enough to show you how you caused them to lock up and then how you rubbed your thumbs across my skin like medicine traveling beneath it and how you released all of the tension and increased my levels of serotonin.
when the lights go off and my keys begin to click I am overwhelmed with the fear that that i'll never find another pair of hands like yours.
I don't want lipstick stains on the same page I wrote my thoughts down on.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
wrap your warm
benevolent
loving
and caring arms
all around me
and whisper to my ears
that you've always heard
all my prayers and pleas
renew your covenant
right now
that you'll forever
be with me
for i've forever been faithful to you
then help me
tell the whole world
that you've
since been the one
i have
always
believed
you are.
let me show them
that you are not
the mess
of ***
christened
in crack
and pina colada
that they now
think you are
let me make them see
that you are not
just a sad sack
of fairy tales
white washed
painted pretty
to hide your scars.
let me
let them
understand
that under the husk
of that hopeless mirth
of the man they see
when they see you today
lies the man
that i see
whenever
i close my eyes.
use me to open their's
use me to have them know
that you exist.
please.
i know you are
out there
somewhere.
the man that i
used to know.
i believe
you haven't forgotten...
i believe
you haven't changed.
my heart burns
to be the sacrifice
that invites forth
your presence.
i long for you
to make known
your being
once again.
fashion your altar
from the tongue in my mouth
i shall never cease
to sing of memoirs
for you.
use my bones
make them the foundation
upon which
you grace with your miracles
and with all
the living skin
of my flesh
carve your memory
of which no one
will ever forget.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 7:18 AM UTC
And it came to pass
in a foggy clime by the North Coast sea
far from city lights
a man became a tree.
And the seeds of life fell on good ground
and in a thoughtful way took hold
and in this sea salt air
breathed a clearer vision.
This would be no beach blanket vision
or pina colada trade wind tanning oil dream
It would be a dream of driftwood and broken shells
that once had life, where sand pipers and gulls
feed and peck away at what the tide brings in
Nightlife and nightclubs, parking spaces were memories
gaining rust on backboards and rims that sent missed shots
rebounding off into some other court and game
His daily devotion would be the ground he was planted in
and the filtered sun beaming passages of hope and inspiration
It was the simple dog walk routines of life
and pleasures found in a backyard with ball and stick
that caused his heart to bounce
Guided by the filtered sun his path was green and light
until he found himself tall and stout
as well as any of the fine trees around him
Cedar cowboys, Redwood indians, Pine tree pilgrims and pioneers,
transplants and strays in need of space and time
and unfettered vision
All because the Lord sought us out and grafted us in like new sprigs
that take hold and prosper like the blue figs of summer
and the sweet sugar pines with ends better than their beginnings
It didn't matter fog or sun all the same to him he strengthened
And after many days the bread cast upon the waters returned
in a dream where where you planted your heart
was what that mattered .
© charlie brannick 2016
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
i like bright orange sunsets
and long walks by the beach
this helps to ease the sudden onsets
of my persistent itch
i like candlelit dinners
and staring at the stars
and you might quickly catch a glimmer
of my post acne scars
i like to sip expensive wine
and a large pina colada
if you do too you'll love to dine
with me and with my mother
so if you like orange sunsets too
jump in my arms and fall
to get to me you must get through
my itch, my warts and all
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 5:08 AM UTC
A ticking clock sits crooked on the kitchen wall only to help us wave
the seconds goodbye.
Why did we stare at it everyday?
It's the same routine just the next day.
It becomes the next week, the next month, then the next year.
The seconds go by with
many desolute moments
and many cringe worthy processes.
Where does all this time go while it crushes our dreams, destroys our ambitions, as we sip on a pina colada
on a beach to nowhere
Is it 5 o'clock somewhere?
Feels like midnight though
with a full moon
crossing over with rainclouds
that are beckoning to be heard.
Time didn't stand still for
those thunderstorms in our bedrooms,
but we did welcome them in.
Glancing back at the clock on the wall,
the essence of time keeps going.
We cannot retreive those lost seconds until we capture the moments
we have together.
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 2:04 AM UTC
Un columpio
de mi patio hasta San Juan,
para que, cada que quieras,
puedas ir a visitar:
la brisa del mar,
el café de abuela.
Tus greñitas llenas de arena y de sal,
unos tostones,
un sándwich con pan sobao,
un café Yauco…
un mofongo los gorditos.
Una llamada cada semana
que se vuelva presencial en Caguas,
un vuelo directo, sin escala,
y quedarnos meses aquí,
con una serenata de coquís.
Una máquina del tiempo —
para salvar a aquel niño,
unos tostones de pana,
unlimited bacalaito.\
Una isla independiente,
un gobierno incorruptible,
una casa con cimientos fuertes,
una luna de ámbar que nos alumbre.
Dos tripletas,
tres cocas de dieta,
cinco dulces de guayaba,
y una piña colada…
Un columpio gigante que te lleve
de nuestro patio a San Juan…
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 5:17 PM UTC
I can't stop writing
At the sound of The Piña Colada Song
My sweet piece of liberty
Won't you take me free as you?
Set me out on the rain
Let me taste your salty tear drops
As they fall down on your cheeks
Red cheeks bathed by the flutter and sun.
Made me go with no air your gaze
As I saw in your lips all the blaze
I could lie and tell the truth at the same time
But would you get either?
Naughty boy from South Carolina
Won't you take me to the streets?
Call me your sweet and extremely white cotton candy
And be my *** on the coke
Watch the stars with me and name it me one.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 5:17 PM UTC