"creamsicle" poems - Hello Poetry

charcoal oxblood poppy pomegranate maroon cranberry cherry creamsicle orange soda saffron lemon egg yolk buttermilk sunflower olive forest lime mint ice blueberry royal blue navy bubblegum fuschia salmon grape lavender wine chocolate espresso

0

Mar 2, 2015

Mar 2, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC

mayhem-is-a-virtue

My Favorite Colors

charcoal oxblood poppy pomegranate maroon cranberry cherry creamsicle orange soda saffron lemon egg yolk buttermilk sunflower olive forest lime mint ice blueberry royal blue navy bubblegum fuschia salmon grape lavender wine chocolate espresso

30

My poetry ***** I’m so tired of writing My fingers are sore My poetry ***** I’m becoming a bore Sticking a verse In front of your face Oozing with love All over the place Creamsicle colors Metaphors thick Wasting your time Making you sick Finding a title Spending the time Just like this poem Something to rhyme Or it could be free-verse… Drifting on metallic clouds in copper spoons dreaming in patterns of silhouette shadows and my foot falls asleep Maybe a Senryu Read at your own risk Dumb crap being written here ***** bags needed Perhaps a Haiku Softly floats the bird Atop morning glory skies **** thing **** on me* Or a Tanka, a Sonnet A Villanelle or an Assterring The last one is nothing I made up the **** thing So you see I’m no poet Least not anymore For what you are seeing Is what you abhor And I’m not complaining Not here on this screen My pen is on empty I’m ready to leave I’m so tired of writing My fingers are sore My poetry ***** I’m becoming a bore

0

Sep 15, 2014

Sep 15, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC

jack-3

My poetry *****

My poetry ***** I’m so tired of writing My fingers are sore My poetry ***** I’m becoming a bore Sticking a verse In front of your face Oozing with love All over the place Creamsicle colors Metaphors thick Wasting your time Making you sick Finding a title Spending the time Just like this poem Something to rhyme Or it could be free-verse… Drifting on metallic clouds in copper spoons dreaming in patterns of silhouette shadows and my foot falls asleep Maybe a Senryu Read at your own risk Dumb crap being written here ***** bags needed Perhaps a Haiku Softly floats the bird Atop morning glory skies **** thing **** on me* Or a Tanka, a Sonnet A Villanelle or an Assterring The last one is nothing I made up the **** thing So you see I’m no poet Least not anymore For what you are seeing Is what you abhor And I’m not complaining Not here on this screen My pen is on empty I’m ready to leave I’m so tired of writing My fingers are sore My poetry ***** I’m becoming a bore

45

orange soda, fizzy tongue, creamsicle smiles. we lived in sync, there, with an ocean breathing between us. *i would have swallowed the sun if it could have helped cool you down* but i wanted to burn god, how i wanted to burn.

0

Sep 19, 2017

Sep 19, 2017 at 2:36 AM UTC

megan-grace

selby, north yorkshire

orange soda, fizzy tongue, creamsicle smiles. we lived in sync, there, with an ocean breathing between us. *i would have swallowed the sun if it could have helped cool you down* but i wanted to burn god, how i wanted to burn.

10

chocolate-coated infancy spilled torn sharkbit souls hallucinating the orange-creamsicle sunrise, mushroomming cotton-candylike. Sanctified, the horizon of dog lovers empty, but leashes lashing the common man, for he is no icon.

0

Jan 2, 2015

Jan 2, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC

courtney-pruitt

lowercase

chocolate-coated infancy spilled torn sharkbit souls hallucinating the orange-creamsicle sunrise, mushroomming cotton-candylike. Sanctified, the horizon of dog lovers empty, but leashes lashing the common man, for he is no icon.

9

Light breaks through the littered cinerescent clouds as I watch from a Windex streaked window Tangerine incandescence fighting it's way through as dusk approaches Warm rays caress my face through shadows of the evergreens that line the street As if a reflection of a giant brass *** was being cast into my living room Fragments of dust filter through the clementine colored air sitting cross legged on an old Persian rug covered in dog fur A weather beaten Japanese maple scratches its fingers on the window The stellar jays bask in this rare gift, hopping from branch to branch The inevitable gloom and grey catching up Ashen warfare surging on a daisy farm A sense of malevolence runs through the clouds A split screen between the high spirits and the melancholy The Castor and Pollux of the skies Like a giant wondrous creamsicle threatened of being swallowed up by the smoke This contention sends them blissfully unaware of the eclipsing nightfall that is upon them Twilight enraptures the heavens, ending in nebulous sovereignty

0

Feb 24, 2013

Feb 24, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC

sean-briere

Grey and Orange

Light breaks through the littered cinerescent clouds as I watch from a Windex streaked window Tangerine incandescence fighting it's way through as dusk approaches Warm rays caress my face through shadows of the evergreens that line the street As if a reflection of a giant brass *** was being cast into my living room Fragments of dust filter through the clementine colored air sitting cross legged on an old Persian rug covered in dog fur A weather beaten Japanese maple scratches its fingers on the window The stellar jays bask in this rare gift, hopping from branch to branch The inevitable gloom and grey catching up Ashen warfare surging on a daisy farm A sense of malevolence runs through the clouds A split screen between the high spirits and the melancholy The Castor and Pollux of the skies Like a giant wondrous creamsicle threatened of being swallowed up by the smoke This contention sends them blissfully unaware of the eclipsing nightfall that is upon them Twilight enraptures the heavens, ending in nebulous sovereignty

16

I used to hate the color orange, But when we pop mandarins into our mouths between Creamsicle-sweet kisses I feel as if I’m being transported to a different dimension where we’re the only two in existence. You’re the sunlight that hits the earth at 6pm, making everything seem as if it’s warm and glowing. Every time I see a candle flame flicker I can’t help but think of you who exudes the same ambiance of alleviation that the walls of my childhood home once did. If sunrise and sunset were to be combined, they still wouldn't compare to the magnetizing brilliance of your aura. You emulate autumnal earth tones and crackling wood in brick fireplaces, echoing your heartbeat and bringing about a sense of raw intimacy shared between two. I trace my fingertips down your spine, reflecting upon the likeness between you and the sun, And I wonder why no one ever named a color after you.

0

May 8, 2016

May 8, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC

biblioism

Untitled

I used to hate the color orange, But when we pop mandarins into our mouths between Creamsicle-sweet kisses I feel as if I’m being transported to a different dimension where we’re the only two in existence. You’re the sunlight that hits the earth at 6pm, making everything seem as if it’s warm and glowing. Every time I see a candle flame flicker I can’t help but think of you who exudes the same ambiance of alleviation that the walls of my childhood home once did. If sunrise and sunset were to be combined, they still wouldn't compare to the magnetizing brilliance of your aura. You emulate autumnal earth tones and crackling wood in brick fireplaces, echoing your heartbeat and bringing about a sense of raw intimacy shared between two. I trace my fingertips down your spine, reflecting upon the likeness between you and the sun, And I wonder why no one ever named a color after you.

8

in the midnight hour desperate men do desperate things, this a tale of one man facing down a terrible challenge in the city that never sleeps, NYC, especially this sleepless natty resident, (of that fact, the bible speaks) when there is nothing left to write or say, could pick up the phone and order penne alla ***** delivered to his bed better yet, hot and direct not sure which I prefer, the penne or the ***** but in the absence annually of my master mistress, all bets are off, she communes with nature, I, with pasta really? really? Frosted Flakes for dinner was not well and sufficient? have you seen you waist line lately, or is that a physical impossibility? drat rat will forgo my pasta orange creamsicle, but you will be sorry too, cause instead you have to share, to eat, this awful poem in bed next to me 12:34am

0

May 14, 2014

May 14, 2014 at 12:47 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

penne alla *****

in the midnight hour desperate men do desperate things, this a tale of one man facing down a terrible challenge in the city that never sleeps, NYC, especially this sleepless natty resident, (of that fact, the bible speaks) when there is nothing left to write or say, could pick up the phone and order penne alla ***** delivered to his bed better yet, hot and direct not sure which I prefer, the penne or the ***** but in the absence annually of my master mistress, all bets are off, she communes with nature, I, with pasta really? really? Frosted Flakes for dinner was not well and sufficient? have you seen you waist line lately, or is that a physical impossibility? drat rat will forgo my pasta orange creamsicle, but you will be sorry too, cause instead you have to share, to eat, this awful poem in bed next to me 12:34am

34

Toothless Lying on the ground Rain falls Washing waste from purple skies Sun sets The dead man's skin is wet and orange He melts A Creamsicle in holy Summer's mouth, and the Holler sits still The silent home of broken will The corpse misses mourning While, all around, the residents eat and sleep and lie

0

Oct 1, 2017

Oct 1, 2017 at 11:03 PM UTC

ZeroNine

The Holler, Cacophony: Missing Mourning Toothless

Toothless Lying on the ground Rain falls Washing waste from purple skies Sun sets The dead man's skin is wet and orange He melts A Creamsicle in holy Summer's mouth, and the Holler sits still The silent home of broken will The corpse misses mourning While, all around, the residents eat and sleep and lie

13

Sun rises, creamsicle smooth over high peaks I come alive again at day break Dark hours of 3am once held tightly To the silky slide of my dreaming mind

0

Jan 8, 2017

Jan 8, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC

brook-ilges

Dreamer

Sun rises, creamsicle smooth over high peaks I come alive again at day break Dark hours of 3am once held tightly To the silky slide of my dreaming mind

4

Liquid walls ripple the ceiling drips iridescent colors. Outside, the emerald forest leaves twinkle, shimmering reflected light to and fro in the breeze. Natives American drums hum syncing to my heartbeat. Water, ephemeral buzzing, azure-indigo flows up the citrine beach, the half-creamsicle moon dances dusk fractal patterns in the foamy tide. Sacred hieroglyphic birds sound like wind chimes. Each sweet breath kisses and caresses the souls of everyone.

0

Jan 30, 2015

Jan 30, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC

brycical

A Scene for You to Relax.

Liquid walls ripple the ceiling drips iridescent colors. Outside, the emerald forest leaves twinkle, shimmering reflected light to and fro in the breeze. Natives American drums hum syncing to my heartbeat. Water, ephemeral buzzing, azure-indigo flows up the citrine beach, the half-creamsicle moon dances dusk fractal patterns in the foamy tide. Sacred hieroglyphic birds sound like wind chimes. Each sweet breath kisses and caresses the souls of everyone.

16

Me, up on the snow-rock white glacial cliff hedges mountaineering my way in the moments-after-twilight-sweeping-black. Execrable cold, a death-making quiet, Not a seal, not a hare - this Earth of gelid death. I climbed out above the snow Where my expiration left sinuous brandings in the copper light. But the Weddell was siphoning the darkness to the katabatic deep valleys - piceous lees of the brightening umber - cleaving the moon in two like the split eye of a winter lynx. And I saw the penguins: Little specks of black in the limitless white - fifty together - obelisk-still. Their inaudible coo, they sat motionless, nearly mute, With creamsicle feet and amber-eyes, incomparably mum. I proceeded: not one chirped or swiveled its little fur cap. Black silent fragments of a black silent world. I hearkened in the barrens of the desiccate plains. While the wooly bears came from the sea to see of the silence. Slowly edges oozed out of the darkness. Then the moon ivory, porcelain, azure erupted Quietly, and halving to its heart and shot mist, shaking and the ocean opened, crying blue, And the giant mountains lunged-. I stopped Scrambling, as if up from my voice at the mouth of a nightmare, down towards the snow-rock, from their glacial sheaths, And came the penguins. There stood they, still-, silent, in the river of blue light: Creamsicle feet and amber-eyed Thwacking the ice in a grand fête While everywhere was gray and rimy. And still they did not speak above a breath, Not one squeeked or cawed, Their nestled shining beaks dug into the polar rim, Low into the valleys, in the blue shimmering rays - In throngs of the congested cities, living among the years, the faces, May I some day greet my memory in such solemn a world Into the estuaries and the azure-skies, curious wooly bears, Listening as the ice tholes.

0

Apr 11, 2017

Apr 11, 2017 at 4:40 AM UTC

martin-narrod

Penguins

Me, up on the snow-rock white glacial cliff hedges mountaineering my way in the moments-after-twilight-sweeping-black. Execrable cold, a death-making quiet, Not a seal, not a hare - this Earth of gelid death. I climbed out above the snow Where my expiration left sinuous brandings in the copper light. But the Weddell was siphoning the darkness to the katabatic deep valleys - piceous lees of the brightening umber - cleaving the moon in two like the split eye of a winter lynx. And I saw the penguins: Little specks of black in the limitless white - fifty together - obelisk-still. Their inaudible coo, they sat motionless, nearly mute, With creamsicle feet and amber-eyes, incomparably mum. I proceeded: not one chirped or swiveled its little fur cap. Black silent fragments of a black silent world. I hearkened in the barrens of the desiccate plains. While the wooly bears came from the sea to see of the silence. Slowly edges oozed out of the darkness. Then the moon ivory, porcelain, azure erupted Quietly, and halving to its heart and shot mist, shaking and the ocean opened, crying blue, And the giant mountains lunged-. I stopped Scrambling, as if up from my voice at the mouth of a nightmare, down towards the snow-rock, from their glacial sheaths, And came the penguins. There stood they, still-, silent, in the river of blue light: Creamsicle feet and amber-eyed Thwacking the ice in a grand fête While everywhere was gray and rimy. And still they did not speak above a breath, Not one squeeked or cawed, Their nestled shining beaks dug into the polar rim, Low into the valleys, in the blue shimmering rays - In throngs of the congested cities, living among the years, the faces, May I some day greet my memory in such solemn a world Into the estuaries and the azure-skies, curious wooly bears, Listening as the ice tholes.

1

After a day of Rally Sweat Skin to skin We come home to Creamsicle colored sunset Dog on the back deck Laughter in a tree canopy Earth's sweet nourishment Yielding natural supply - It's what I march for

0

May 23, 2015

May 23, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC

Rose-mary

March Against Monsanto

After a day of Rally Sweat Skin to skin We come home to Creamsicle colored sunset Dog on the back deck Laughter in a tree canopy Earth's sweet nourishment Yielding natural supply - It's what I march for

12

Trail eyes blending the murky colors as they slowly lick the landscape tickling with the edge of tongues warm pastels as if creamsicle dripping the edges of fingers somehow now lining evergreens rushing turquoise blending with navy denim white caps as fresh water churns alongside smoothing edges of rocks I dip my spine the hemispheric shape of my back as it extends over the damp dripping moss you cradle my body the warmth moves between the sensations of shudders as we cling alongside one another your lips part as the foreign color of red stands out to the cold, dimly lit nature I bite deep gasp, scream weep.

0

Nov 29, 2017

Nov 29, 2017 at 3:28 AM UTC

JackOfAllTrades

Huckleberry wilderness.

Trail eyes blending the murky colors as they slowly lick the landscape tickling with the edge of tongues warm pastels as if creamsicle dripping the edges of fingers somehow now lining evergreens rushing turquoise blending with navy denim white caps as fresh water churns alongside smoothing edges of rocks I dip my spine the hemispheric shape of my back as it extends over the damp dripping moss you cradle my body the warmth moves between the sensations of shudders as we cling alongside one another your lips part as the foreign color of red stands out to the cold, dimly lit nature I bite deep gasp, scream weep.

33

Me, up on the snow-rock white glacial cliff hedges mountaineering my way in the moments-after-twilight-sweeping-black. Execrable cold, a death-making quiet, Not a seal, not a hare - this Earth of gelid death. I climbed out above the snow Where my expiration left sinuous brandings in the copper light. But the Weddell was siphoning the darkness to the katabatic deep valleys - piceous lees of the brightening umber - cleaving the moon in two like the split eye of a winter lynx. And I saw the penguins: Little specks of black in the limitless white - fifty together - obelisk-still. Their inaudible coo, they sat motionless, nearly mute, With creamsicle feet and amber-eyes, incomparably mum. I proceeded: not one chirped or swiveled its little fur cap. Black silent fragments of a black silent world. I hearkened in the barrens of the desiccate plains. While the wooly bears came from the sea to see of the silence. Slowly edges oozed out of the darkness. Then the moon ivory, porcelain, azure erupted Quietly, and halving to its heart and shot mist, shaking and the ocean opened, crying blue, And the giant mountains lunged-. I stopped Scrambling, as if up from my voice at the mouth of a nightmare, down towards the snow-rock, from their glacial sheaths, And came the penguins. There stood they, still-, silent, in the river of blue light: Creamsicle feet and amber-eyed Thwacking the ice in a grand fête While everywhere was gray and rimy. And still they did not speak above a breath, Not one squeeked or cawed, Their nestled shining beaks dug into the polar rim, Low into the valleys, in the blue shimmering rays - In throngs of the congested cities, living among the years, the faces, May I some day greet my memory in such solemn a world Into the estuaries and the azure-skies, curious wooly bears, Listening as the ice tholes.

0

Apr 11, 2017

Apr 11, 2017 at 4:42 AM UTC

martin-narrod

Penguins

Me, up on the snow-rock white glacial cliff hedges mountaineering my way in the moments-after-twilight-sweeping-black. Execrable cold, a death-making quiet, Not a seal, not a hare - this Earth of gelid death. I climbed out above the snow Where my expiration left sinuous brandings in the copper light. But the Weddell was siphoning the darkness to the katabatic deep valleys - piceous lees of the brightening umber - cleaving the moon in two like the split eye of a winter lynx. And I saw the penguins: Little specks of black in the limitless white - fifty together - obelisk-still. Their inaudible coo, they sat motionless, nearly mute, With creamsicle feet and amber-eyes, incomparably mum. I proceeded: not one chirped or swiveled its little fur cap. Black silent fragments of a black silent world. I hearkened in the barrens of the desiccate plains. While the wooly bears came from the sea to see of the silence. Slowly edges oozed out of the darkness. Then the moon ivory, porcelain, azure erupted Quietly, and halving to its heart and shot mist, shaking and the ocean opened, crying blue, And the giant mountains lunged-. I stopped Scrambling, as if up from my voice at the mouth of a nightmare, down towards the snow-rock, from their glacial sheaths, And came the penguins. There stood they, still-, silent, in the river of blue light: Creamsicle feet and amber-eyed Thwacking the ice in a grand fête While everywhere was gray and rimy. And still they did not speak above a breath, Not one squeeked or cawed, Their nestled shining beaks dug into the polar rim, Low into the valleys, in the blue shimmering rays - In throngs of the congested cities, living among the years, the faces, May I some day greet my memory in such solemn a world Into the estuaries and the azure-skies, curious wooly bears, Listening as the ice tholes.

1

I have years in my head that are just blurs Sitting in a trailer park, smelling charcoal Climbing a pine tree, sap sticking my palms To whatever bark unhinges itself Scraps that cling to the life blood Of it’s origin I have an orange creamsicle ice pop Memory That summer, the Dog my mom and dad rescued Ran away I think he died Or maybe it was she But I played like a princess on the frailty of a washed up Playground, decaying in disrepair Just happy for the orange creamsicle I am free In these moments

0

Jan 27, 2016

Jan 27, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC

feeelreel

5. (Self)

I have years in my head that are just blurs Sitting in a trailer park, smelling charcoal Climbing a pine tree, sap sticking my palms To whatever bark unhinges itself Scraps that cling to the life blood Of it’s origin I have an orange creamsicle ice pop Memory That summer, the Dog my mom and dad rescued Ran away I think he died Or maybe it was she But I played like a princess on the frailty of a washed up Playground, decaying in disrepair Just happy for the orange creamsicle I am free In these moments

17

I so often yearn for the brilliant freedom children exude at the public pool-- in their Tahitian orange board shorts swinging like mudflaps against youthful legs covered in fine, blonde wisps, girls in lemon sorbet one pieces standing triumphantly akimbo at the water's edge with small protruding bellies for no other reason than to be, beauties much like wildflowers, lone columbines or other pale fauna-- evenly evertan or milky white, beet sunburns that creep down the sharp points of shoulder blades, barely held in place by sheets of taut canvas leaking water and blinking rapidly beneath oily fingers smeared with sunscreen and diluted peach creamsicle--fresh glass blades pressed and dried to little feet as if they were pages out of a wriggling book-- slapping wetly against pavement so hot you could swear the children sizzle , leaping over bathers--teenage girls that flinch and scoff--as if they can fly and we are ants, them, giants who we cannot touch. Whose droplets barely graze us, whose enveloping warm wind we ignore or reproach. If we grow dim and colder as we age then these are still boiling, still utterly reactive to any and every substance every limb a curious proboscis, mercurial temperaments and tiny hearts that flash like switchboards and wallop against caverns heavy with discovery.

0

Jun 15, 2016

Jun 15, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC

broooke

Tiny Soundboards.

I so often yearn for the brilliant freedom children exude at the public pool-- in their Tahitian orange board shorts swinging like mudflaps against youthful legs covered in fine, blonde wisps, girls in lemon sorbet one pieces standing triumphantly akimbo at the water's edge with small protruding bellies for no other reason than to be, beauties much like wildflowers, lone columbines or other pale fauna-- evenly evertan or milky white, beet sunburns that creep down the sharp points of shoulder blades, barely held in place by sheets of taut canvas leaking water and blinking rapidly beneath oily fingers smeared with sunscreen and diluted peach creamsicle--fresh glass blades pressed and dried to little feet as if they were pages out of a wriggling book-- slapping wetly against pavement so hot you could swear the children sizzle , leaping over bathers--teenage girls that flinch and scoff--as if they can fly and we are ants, them, giants who we cannot touch. Whose droplets barely graze us, whose enveloping warm wind we ignore or reproach. If we grow dim and colder as we age then these are still boiling, still utterly reactive to any and every substance every limb a curious proboscis, mercurial temperaments and tiny hearts that flash like switchboards and wallop against caverns heavy with discovery.

30

Your indigo crystal aura spins through the meteorites and rock matter Creamsicle wheat, gold aura'd The golden freed, guild and greed appealed. As if from up the causeway of some starving and scary ghosts. If Shel Silverstein had ghosts their ghosts would be still too decent. In the tired eyes of friends and their declarations- I have no cyn to give nor cywm to live. Tired am I of breezing through narrow rills in Hidden Creek the obvious spillway ditch of our not even near immortal wealth that weighs on the souls of the outlying suns. Realize that active sight, only breathes from active mind. And until today I never realized that I don't mind child. My child My sweet sweet child of the radiant and crimsony misty blue and white skies through divine amber and aurulent lights, that twinkle acrosss such Incredible sea-green and robin's egg blue colored ocean sized eyes. From these Ides whereon I've drifted supine, lost, scattered and random In the weeping tide's of Alice's watery eyes.

0

Sep 5, 2015

Sep 5, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC

martin-narrod

Untitled

Your indigo crystal aura spins through the meteorites and rock matter Creamsicle wheat, gold aura'd The golden freed, guild and greed appealed. As if from up the causeway of some starving and scary ghosts. If Shel Silverstein had ghosts their ghosts would be still too decent. In the tired eyes of friends and their declarations- I have no cyn to give nor cywm to live. Tired am I of breezing through narrow rills in Hidden Creek the obvious spillway ditch of our not even near immortal wealth that weighs on the souls of the outlying suns. Realize that active sight, only breathes from active mind. And until today I never realized that I don't mind child. My child My sweet sweet child of the radiant and crimsony misty blue and white skies through divine amber and aurulent lights, that twinkle acrosss such Incredible sea-green and robin's egg blue colored ocean sized eyes. From these Ides whereon I've drifted supine, lost, scattered and random In the weeping tide's of Alice's watery eyes.

11

As I lay in the grass Tall and short Wispy blades Shuddering in the wind Waving back and forth Some blades Bent and folded Where I lay on top Eventually if I ever get up Those bent blades Will make a silhouette of me At least until They get their strength back But that might not happen Because as I lay there In the summery green I can feel the rays of the sun Warm and comforting They seep through my skin Swirling and swimming Slowly melting me Like a pretty little creamsicle That was left in the sun Melting until The orange and white Meld together To create something beautiful I am like that As I lay here in the sun Melting, mixing and swirling The vibrant colors of who I am Rare are the spots of black But mixed in With the rainbow of my soul It creates a calming picture Filling in my form in the grass Showing the hard and good Of someone The hard and good That make us so beautiful Then the colors Start seeping into the ground After only a few minutes The blades of grass stand You could hardly tell I was there Until I come back the next week To my favorite spot Underneath the tall willowy tree Its leaves swaying But before I sit down I look to the other side And see mounds of flowers That hadn’t been there before I climb the tree to look down And see The flowers creating a beautiful girl Basking in the sunlight Created by pure and simple Happiness.

0

May 11, 2016

May 11, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC

birddonuts

The Disarming Sun

As I lay in the grass Tall and short Wispy blades Shuddering in the wind Waving back and forth Some blades Bent and folded Where I lay on top Eventually if I ever get up Those bent blades Will make a silhouette of me At least until They get their strength back But that might not happen Because as I lay there In the summery green I can feel the rays of the sun Warm and comforting They seep through my skin Swirling and swimming Slowly melting me Like a pretty little creamsicle That was left in the sun Melting until The orange and white Meld together To create something beautiful I am like that As I lay here in the sun Melting, mixing and swirling The vibrant colors of who I am Rare are the spots of black But mixed in With the rainbow of my soul It creates a calming picture Filling in my form in the grass Showing the hard and good Of someone The hard and good That make us so beautiful Then the colors Start seeping into the ground After only a few minutes The blades of grass stand You could hardly tell I was there Until I come back the next week To my favorite spot Underneath the tall willowy tree Its leaves swaying But before I sit down I look to the other side And see mounds of flowers That hadn’t been there before I climb the tree to look down And see The flowers creating a beautiful girl Basking in the sunlight Created by pure and simple Happiness.

60

clementine, he pricked your skin fragrant and newborn his fingers tainted flowery zing to him, clementines like a thursday dream creamsicle gleams clementine, you are well a throw of a coin a chill of a moan into the wishing well for you tinyclem i gather your peeling petals in my palms perfumed sweet my sweet clem

0

Mar 6, 2017

Mar 6, 2017 at 10:10 PM UTC

paperclip

C

clementine, he pricked your skin fragrant and newborn his fingers tainted flowery zing to him, clementines like a thursday dream creamsicle gleams clementine, you are well a throw of a coin a chill of a moan into the wishing well for you tinyclem i gather your peeling petals in my palms perfumed sweet my sweet clem

15

Even though I miss you so I look up at the up at the creamsicle skies you present to me & I reminisce about how sweet life can be I feel less alone in those quiet instants Though I usually never show it Some days I'm more fragile than others Yet, I've learned to love every second of it Solace in the silence I like to be able to slowly arise from my slumber I like to be able to hop on my bike & feel what the breeze has in store for me I like to listen to the trees when they tell me about their dreams I like it when the sun kisses me so Or when the bugs play hide and seek in my hair with the leafs that want me to take them home I'm not ready to die.

0

Sep 25, 2017

Sep 25, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC

sweetlilbun

What is there to say?

Even though I miss you so I look up at the up at the creamsicle skies you present to me & I reminisce about how sweet life can be I feel less alone in those quiet instants Though I usually never show it Some days I'm more fragile than others Yet, I've learned to love every second of it Solace in the silence I like to be able to slowly arise from my slumber I like to be able to hop on my bike & feel what the breeze has in store for me I like to listen to the trees when they tell me about their dreams I like it when the sun kisses me so Or when the bugs play hide and seek in my hair with the leafs that want me to take them home I'm not ready to die.

16

Woolen clouds and creamsicle skies Appeared as I bore into his mythical eyes His lovesick heart and clouded mind, His blinded orbs, our hounded rides He can't see me, a broken guide Riding down, riding down, Those pastel obliques, wheels on the ground I fell apart, our hands collide Forbidden minds, it's worth the ride Love found, heart pounds, heaved sound Clear blue streams, my sweet daydreams His honey hair, his tranquil eyes I went to him to say it all He and a girl had brighter beams And all he said, ''Goodbye''

0

Jul 3, 2018

Jul 3, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC

Anne_88

Training Wheels

Woolen clouds and creamsicle skies Appeared as I bore into his mythical eyes His lovesick heart and clouded mind, His blinded orbs, our hounded rides He can't see me, a broken guide Riding down, riding down, Those pastel obliques, wheels on the ground I fell apart, our hands collide Forbidden minds, it's worth the ride Love found, heart pounds, heaved sound Clear blue streams, my sweet daydreams His honey hair, his tranquil eyes I went to him to say it all He and a girl had brighter beams And all he said, ''Goodbye''

15

I want to stand on the edge of a tall building-pressed against the steely bars, the wrought-iron coils of metal, icy on my legs I want to stand on the edge of love, with you hold my arms above my head let you absorb all that I am drunken and stupid- hesitant and wanting the creamsicle orange of a sunset- the brilliant pink smear of a sailor's-trouble-sunrise with you. Everything with you. Standing on the edge of everything, you. Tell me you want to stand with me too.

0

Nov 8, 2015

Nov 8, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC

sarah-or-something

The Edge With You.

I want to stand on the edge of a tall building-pressed against the steely bars, the wrought-iron coils of metal, icy on my legs I want to stand on the edge of love, with you hold my arms above my head let you absorb all that I am drunken and stupid- hesitant and wanting the creamsicle orange of a sunset- the brilliant pink smear of a sailor's-trouble-sunrise with you. Everything with you. Standing on the edge of everything, you. Tell me you want to stand with me too.

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