"lemonades" poems
It has to be better than this
The lemonades are turning to dust
Silverlinings have all rained down
Life's got to be bigger than this
The flower that once was
Now a thorn sharper than dead dreams
Stabbing all hope
This dark vacuum is ******* me in
I'm holding on to the last beam of light
But my grip is slipping and I'm scared
Aren't things supposed to work out?
Well begun is now all undone
(Los Angeles, Aug 22 2017)
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC
Dear Poet Friends, this short poem was composed during the Summer
of 2010, and posted on ‘Poemhunter.com’. Hope you like it. Thanks.
WHEN YOU CATCH THAT FEVER!
When the body temperature exceeds the normal,
You know you have got the fever on you.
High fever can get you in a delirium,
And even inside the ICU!
One must guard oneself from the Summer’s sun,
Take precaution from exhaustion and heat.
Wear dark glasses and use a parasol,
And sun-tan lotion makes the picture complete.
‘Prevention is half the cure’, is an old saying which
is true!
With cool butter milk and iced lemonades, -
You can keep that heat off you!
Now there is another type of fever, more potent
than that ‘Swine Flu’!
It can strike you anywhere and anytime,
And you cannot take adequate precautions too!
When your heart starts to beat faster, -
And a fever rages all inside.
You get melancholic and delirious, -
When someone calls the doctor by your bedside!
But when no temperature gets recorded,
And the doctor looks all concerned!
For you have caught the 'Love’s Fever', -
Oh, what a lovely way to burn!
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi
(Comments from Fay Slims, a senior & a veteran poet from
Cornwall, SW England:- “Raj, catching that fever is never
avoided by those who have given their heart!”)
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
Across the world
At 1:30 tomorrow
There is a place set for me
By a girl I've never met
In a house I've never been in
Next to people I've never heard the names of
But she greets me with open arms
And shows me off to her friends
We sit down with cakes
and lemonades
and teas
and ridiculous hats
And it feel like home
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
It’s a constant battle between gold and stone in my chest.
One likes to hold a sword to the dark with the whole city at his back.
The other makes warning bells of paper mâché .
Where I come from we’re mostly dare devils.
We cook food on open flames next to a gas tank and race on bridges with no rails. Only one of those is real.
My mind sometimes seems like a doll house made of old computer processors. Attempt 79.
Most days I try to keep my lips zipped shut but my eyes are like a see through body bag.
On other days music tends to be good enough superglue for broken masks.
I remember the first time time froze and my heart tried to handwrite on the ice.
I tried to draw her attention with the broken lead pencils I have for lips but I’ve never been a fine artist.
We haven’t spoken in a while, I guess making new friends is easy but keeping old ones is hard.
There’s overgrowth on the road less travelled and it’s hard to find.
And when I feel down for following the crowd, I use poetry as a pendulum to help my mood swing.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
Magic oftentimes
Come from the sickest minds
And poetry
Born from the aches
Of loneliness
Write...
And make some lemonades
Out of the aridity
Of this life.
Jun 12, 2021
Jun 12, 2021 at 7:34 AM UTC
Graffitied, empty shadows cross the street
holding no one’s hand in the dead daylight
Tough little boys bullied into men
on brickroad neighborhoods
built for the needy
Abstract Gala supermarkets
Opening their doors for those with
thick rimmed glasses and high waisted jeans
but closing for the needy
Black spray painted letters on gray garage doors
expressing angst and boredom in a self-made city
Inked grotesques and broken glass lemonades
scattered gently along the road we call home
Watered down tomato soup dinners
that feed six but meant for two and we’re
crouched along swaying bridges
when lights of the stadium
blind across the street
Brooklyn anticipation,
dreams of howling wolves and pines swaying
Brooklyn anticipation,
Brooklyn solitude
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
I do not want love;
I want escapades.
Don’t need warm milk;
I want hard lemonades.
Please no shared sheets;
Just a sleeping bag for one.
And no tiny feet;
I’ll be mother to the rising sun.
No blue skies;
I want green lightening and glittering stars.
No diamond things;
I only want rings from hot cider and skidding cars.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
I hadn’t thought of you in years.
To be honest, I put you away in the box of memories of people I simply longer cared for, put the hurt into the deepest part of my soul and laughed the anger away while my best friend and I made plans for matching bathing suits and making lemonades for another summer barbecue we could fondly look back on. It was 3 am and the guy you told me I wasn’t allowed to be friends with, was laughing with me outside of a Taco Bell I knew you hated going to. We were talking about the letter your ex wrote him and I suddenly remember how much you hated your ex.
But god **** if you two weren’t meant for each other.
I mean, you are basically the same person, same narcissistic, view, same letters where you blamed others when you should have seen what was in front you. It was through laughing, I realized, I don’t miss, I never missed you to begin with. The day you told me I was a bad friend, a bad person, a person who moved mountains for you and was crushed under the weight, I realized, you gave me the freedom was looking for. I was heart broken at first, but then I realized friendships aren’t made from how many years you have known someone, they are made from meeting someone and feeling like you knew them a lifetime. Friendships are unconditional love and respect, something I hadn’t felt the first time you insulted me. I guess what I’m trying to say is, enjoy my Instagram, it’s public and I know you still talk **** about me cause that's just the kind of bitter lemon you are, the kind people leave behind at the Farmer’s Market.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 5:05 AM UTC
Sometimes, one of these days when it rains,
I want to sit by the window sill,
And read her my favourite book,
And watch her wonder at the rain drops
But before there were rains,
There had been a summer,
Never the same, but this,
Not quite like any other
Sure not like her first
When she’d crawl more and walk less,
Garble more and talk less,
Yet each time her lips parted,
She brought me a feeling uncharted.
A myriad, not one, I’ll always be swarmed
She’ll giggle away and I’ll be disarmed
In summers to follow,
She’d put on her school dress,
Wave out to me
Like a sun in her prowess,
Then there was a period when she sketched,
That was also the time she started caring for her tress
Season changed, and cold was common again,
To give her company, I too would feign a pain,
She had started dancing now,
Sometimes I’d shake a leg too,
Solving her math problems,
I’d learn some math too
But there were lessons,
A little few on hope too
Because that’s how I kept up,
I could’ve given up too
And then came the last summer,
The one that was unlike none,
We drove around a lot,
And stopovers for lemonades were fun
Last summer, our car broke down a lot too,
Fixing it was hard, but fixing it was what we had to
Soon, she took to a habit,
That of me fixing it for her,
So, when doctors took her to the Operating unit,
She said, my daddy would fix me sir
Who was to say what Daddy could do?
He was no doctor, had only hope to cling on to
The hope that he had taught her,
Today was Daddy’s test,
One he couldn’t falter
So that’s what I have been telling you,
Now you tell me something too,
Sometimes one of these days when it rains,
Should I not want to sit by the window sill?
And read her my favourite book?
Should I or should I not?
Want to watch her wonder at the rain drops again.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 4:46 AM UTC
Let the child breathe and the warm air flow
This tragedy needed an end, we were too young
To shoulder a battle devoid of arrows and bows
Pity our play, meant short, already took long
We lost precious blood to tie up a loose end
Rewritten distorted meanings of sadness and pain
Bitter Loss over gain so we could make amends
We fast fed the pain, all we felt left, the main
Let the sweet lemonades drain and burn away
We played possum to ourselves and died for real
What killed us was a trick, what kept us at bay
Was the solidity of death that couldn't be healed
Yet, by some misfortune I kept an eye open
To see these corpses walk every now and then.
26.10.17
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
It feels like
you just came
and visited me
yesterday.
The lemonades
and Anna Karenina
left open
on top of
the coffee table
waiting for us
to drink it
till there is
not a single drop
and for us to read
to debate
and to fight over
before we close it
and go through
another tale.
But you are not here
as the table
has been left
unattended
long time ago.
It was not
there alone
just like the day
we dragged it home
from the waste bay
and stationed it
at the center
of the hall.
It was full of mess,
dirt and marks
I can't hardly see
any signs
of love and
happiness
and pride,
the same feelings
we used to have
on it.
We used to run
to the grocery
down the corner
and laughed at
all the flattery
over the dinner
We used to kick
all the jittery
over the thunder
and shoved
the maturity
down the throat
but now we are
slowly getting
used to be like
a stranger
like a feather
off the duster
fly separately
on its own
to meet the final
destination
of its soul.
you are
no longer
here with me
to encounter
the thunder
as the lady luck
choose to
smile on you
and I fall into
the lethal oblivion
that stays longer
than the morning dew.
You may have
long gone
perhaps to the
end of the world
or to the center circle
of the endless whirl
it might be forever
or just like
the stay with me
that ends
prematurely,
but I hope
you know that
you will always
reside in the back
of my mind
at the bottom
of my heart
permanently.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 3:34 AM UTC