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Free Nov 2013
Lemons- in fanfictions, a gritty or ****** scene.















I watched your Adam's apple bob
As you swallowed your arousal.
My head was swirling with the scent of lemons,
And I couldn't help myself
As I tottered towards you on my intoxication,
Inebriation.
My hands hit your chest,
And in our unsteadiness,
My extra push sent us tumbling...
Down onto the Citrus yellow sheets of your bed
My mouth on your neck,
Wanting only to taste your Lemon sweat.
Your eyes wandered freely,
And your hands soon followed.
Touching my *******,
The perky *******,
You put your mouth on one,
Extracting from it some sour mix of sweetness,
The lemon in my veins.
We mashed together,
Your member against my cavity,
Pictures of lemons in my mind.
Your hand round my throat,
You began to speak harshly,
Lemon tainting your soul.
The acid in your words,
Acid on your fingernails as they tore my skin...
It hurt,
But it hurt like the beautiful Lemons that brought me here.
You put yourself in me,
Again and again
You forced my body into submission.
My tears burned with the citrus,
My eyes now yellow,
Like the lemons.
In this lighting,
Your skin looked yellow too,
I could almost say your head was a lemon...
Pain resurfaces,
Blood,
The sensation that something was flowing into me,
I knew your lemon juice had filled my pitcher,
Now it was available for drinking.
And you did,
You drank your lemon juice with my sugar,
Lemonade of us two.
Pleasure rocked my body,
And I felt your lemon invading me.
But you yourself,
You were drawing it out of me.
My walls pulled in,
They clenched,
I let out a shrill.
The smell of our lemon sweat
Once again,
Pervading the room.
You collapsed beside me,
The drug wearing off,
Lemons exiting your mind already.
I wasn't done though.
I'm still obsessed.
Still obsessed with lemons.
when life throws you lemons
and you are tired of lemonade,-
look for somebody with fish-
and make a feast in stead.

when life throws you lemons-
and you already have an appetite-
just Google 'how to farm lemons'-
and search for an orchard site.

when life throws you lemons-
and you're near a restaurant or bar,
make the easiest money ever.
sell the **** things! you needn't go far.

when life throws you lemons-
while you only wanted an orange,
go to the nearest local market,-
and just try your best to exchange.

when life throws you lemons-
and you know not what to do,
just keep them safe for June-
or look for someone with a flu.

when life throws you lemons-
and you just don't want them,
leave them on the road and go.
life might have had a wrong aim.

Keep Smiling
Life is so generous

Ever so full of gifts to spare;

Ever so rich of privileges that glamours;

Over-flowing chances that fills up this fine young soul to give a full flare

Yet it's so generous that it gives also "lemons"

Life oh life,

Why "lemons"?

I grew up knowing,

Lemons are best served cold

Especially in every summer for those who thirsts for such juicy quench

While feets're on sands and the kingly sun's overhead

But why "lemons"?!

Maybe it wasn't just lemons picked up from metro market

But lemons from life

Then I suppose it does'nt matter anymore

I guess what matters is I have these...

I have "life" and I have "lemons"
12-29-14
LoveLy Feb 2015
It's so funny when people say make lemonade!
Because all the lemons I've ever been given,
have been moldy and much to bruised to truly
make some good lemonade to get me through
the day.

And secondly where am I suppose to get the sugar from?
Water is easy I can just use the tears from the times
when the lemons were sprayed in my eyes instead
of given to me.
But sugar? It that a joke?Life has never been that sweet.

For all those who say when "when life gives you
lemons make lemonade"...I'd like you to have
the first drink of my moldy lemon,tear water, no sugar...
Lemonade.
I search, but I rarely find
The reasons they say that I'd be fine

Fine is perspective I say with a wink
First amused then confused they stop and they think
"What does he mean," they say through closed teeth.
I'll tell you what I think and believe
See no one ever gets out of life alive
So I find it inexplicable why someone would try.

That might seem negative in practice or thought
But life hands out lemons or so I've been taught
But the second half of that statement I never have bought
Don't make lemonade be happy with the lemons you've got
Cuz each one you get teaches you something you see.
Just embrace life for itself what will be, well, will be.

Some risk the now for future's sake
Spend all their time planning just to get raked
Over the coals by the pressure they've placed
On themselves trying to force their lives into shape
I learned early on that square pegs just don't fit
In round holes, so what's the point in forcing it.

Life ebbs and flows, steals, lies and cheats.
If you aren't ready for its storms you'll be blown off your feet
To weather the storms of lightning and sleet
You'll need recover regroup and repeat,
The lessons you learned when you were so young.
Yes, plan a future but in the now, please, have fun.
Fuji Bear May 2014
When life gives you lemons,
make sure you keep the receipt,
because lemons are a horrible gift.
Daylight 4U2C Sep 2014
Candy can be sweet,
lemons can be bitter.
Life gives us lemons,
but candy would be better.
Still..what do we make?
How smart we can be.
We know we can do it,
still we want candy.
A treat so sweet,
so simple and neat!
Tell me friend, not of how it taste,
but if you had candy,
what sharing joy would you make?
Something so good,
so sweet,
others could take?
What would you choose? Honestly, I want to know!!
the
     sky
           was
can    dy    lu
minous
            edible
spry
        pinks shy
lemons
greens    coo    1 choc
olate
s.

  un    der,
  a    lo
co
mo
      tive        s  pout
                               ing
                                     vi
                                     o
                                     lets
Victor D López Dec 2018
Victor D. López (October 11, 2018)

You were born five years before the beginning of the Spanish civil war and
Lived in a modest two-story home in the lower street of Fontan, facing the ocean that
Gifted you its wealth and beauty but also robbed you of your beloved and noblest eldest
Brother, Juan, who was killed while working as a fisherman out to sea at the tender age of 19.

You were a little girl much prone to crying. The neighbors would make you cry just by saying,
"Chora, neniña, chora" [Cry little girl, cry] which instantly produced inconsolable wailing.
At the age of seven or eight you were blinded by an eye Infection. The village doctor
Saved your eyesight, but not before you missed a full year of school.

You never recovered from that lost time. Your impatience and the shame of feeling left behind prevented
You from making up for lost time. Your wounded pride, the shame of not knowing what your friends knew,
Your restlessness and your inability to hold your tongue when you were corrected by your teacher created
A perfect storm that inevitably tossed your diminutive boat towards the rocks.

When still a girl, you saw Franco with his escort leave his yacht in Fontan. With the innocence of a girl
Who would never learn to hold her tongue, you asked a neighbor who was also present, "Who is that Man?"
"The Generalissimo Francisco Franco," she answered and whispered “Say ‘Viva Franco’ when he Passes by.”
With the innocence of a little girl and the arrogance of an incorrigible old soul you screamed, pointing:

"That's the Generalissimo?" followed up loud laughter, "He looks like Tom Thumb!"
A member of his protective detail approached you, raising his machine gun with the apparent intention of
Hitting you with the stock. "Leave her alone!" Franco ordered. "She is just a child — the fault is not hers."
You told that story many times in my presence, always with a smile or laughing out loud.

I don't believe you ever appreciated the possible import of that "feat" of contempt for
Authority. Could that act of derision have played some small part in their later
Coming for your father and taking him prisoner, torturing him for months and eventually
Condemning him to be executed by firing squad in the Plaza de Maria Pita?

He escaped his fate with the help of a fascist officer who freed him as I’ve noted earlier.
Such was his reputation, the power of his ideas and the esteem even of friends who did not share his views.
Such was your innocence or your psychic blind spot that you never realized your possible contribution to
His destruction. Thank God you never connected the possible impact of your words on his downfall.

You adored your dad throughout your life with a passion of which he was most deserving.
He died shortly after the end of the Spanish Civil War. A mother with ten mouths to feed
Needed help. You stepped up in response to her silent, urgent need. At the age of
Eleven you left school for the last time and began working full time.

Children could not legally work in Franco’s Spain. Nevertheless, a cousin who owned a cannery
Took pity on your situation and allowed you to work full-time in his fish cannery factory in Sada.
You earned the same salary as the adult, predominantly women workers and worked better
Than most of them with a dexterity and rapidity that served you well your entire life.

In your free time before work you carried water from the communal fountain to neighbors for a few cents.
You also made trips carrying water on your head for home and with a pail in each hand. This continued after
You began work in Cheche’s cannery. You rose long before sunrise to get the water for
Home and for the local fishermen before they left on their daily fishing trips for their personal water pails.

All of the money you earned went to your mom with great pride that a girl could provide more than the salary of a
Grown woman--at the mere cost of her childhood and education. You also washed clothes for some
Neighbors for a few cents more, with diapers for newborns always free just for the pleasure of being
Allowed to see, hold spend some time with the babies you so dearly loved you whole life through.
When you were old enough to go to the Sunday cinema and dances, you continued the
Same routine and added washing and ironed the Sunday clothes for the young fishermen
Who wanted to look their best for the weekly dances. The money from that third job was your own
To pay for weekly hairdos, the cinema and dance hall entry fee. The rest still went to your mom.

At 16 you wanted to go to emigrate to Buenos Aires to live with an aunt.
Your mom agreed to let you--provided you took your younger sister, Remedios, with you.
You reluctantly agreed. You found you also could not legally work in Buenos Aires as a minor.
So you convincingly lied about your age and got a job as a nurse’s aide at a clinic soon after your arrival.

You washed bedpans, made beds, scrubbed floors and did other similar assigned tasks
To earn enough money to pay the passage for your mom and two youngest brothers,
Sito (José) and Paco (Francisco). Later you got a job as a maid at a hotel in the resort town of
Mar del Plata whose owners loved your passion for taking care of their infant children.

You served as a maid and unpaid babysitter. Between your modest salary and
Tips as a maid you soon earned the rest of the funds needed for your mom’s and brothers’
Passage from Spain. You returned to Buenos Aires and found two rooms you could afford in an
Excellent neighborhood at an old boarding house near the Spanish Consulate in the center of the city.

Afterwards you got a job at a Ponds laboratory as a machine operator of packaging
Machines for Ponds’ beauty products. You made good money and helped to support your
Mom and brothers  while she continued working as hard as she always had in Spain,
No longer selling fish but cleaning a funeral home and washing clothing by hand.

When your brothers were old enough to work, they joined you in supporting your
Mom and getting her to retire from working outside the home.
You lived with your mom in the same home until you married dad years later,
And never lost the bad habit of stubbornly speaking your mind no matter the cost.

Your union tried to force you to register as a Peronista. Once burned twice cautious,
You refused, telling the syndicate you had not escaped one dictator to ally yourself with
Another. They threatened to fire you. When you would not yield, they threatened to
Repatriate you, your mom and brothers back to Spain.

I can’t print your reply here. They finally brought you to the general manager’s office
Demanding he fire you. You demanded a valid reason for their request.
The manager—doubtless at his own peril—refused, saying he had no better worker
Than you and that the union had no cause to demand your dismissal.

After several years of courtship, you and dad married. You had the world well in hand with
Well-paying jobs and strong savings that would allow you to live a very comfortable life.
You seemed incapable of having the children you so longed for. Three years of painful
Treatments allowed you to give me life and we lived three more years in a beautiful apartment.

I have memories from a very tender age and remember that apartment very well. But things changed
When you decided to go into businesses that soon became unsustainable in the runaway inflation and
Economic chaos of the Argentina of the early 1960’s. I remember only too well your extreme sacrifice
And dad’s during that time—A theme for another day, but not for today.

You were the hardest working person I’ve ever known. You were not afraid of any honest
Job no matter how challenging and your restlessness and competitive spirit always made you a
Stellar employee everywhere you worked no matter how hard or challenging the job.
Even at home you could not stand still unless there was someone with whom to chat awhile.

You were a truly great cook thanks in part to learning from the chef of the hotel where you had
Worked in Mar del Plata awhile—a fellow Spaniard of Basque descent who taught you many of his favorite
Dishes—Spanish and Italian specialties. You were always a terribly picky eater. But you
Loved to cook for family and friends—the more the merrier—and for special holidays.

Dad was also a terrific cook, but with a more limited repertoire. I learned to cook
With great joy from both of you at a young age. And, though neither my culinary skills nor
Any aspect of my life can match you or dad, I too am a decent cook and
Love to cook, especially for meals shared with loved ones.

You took great pleasure in introducing my friends to some of your favorite dishes such as
Cazuela de mariscos, paella marinera, caldo Gallego, stews, roasts, and your incomparable
Canelones, ñoquis, orejas, crepes, muñuelos, flan, and the rest of your long culinary repertoire.
In primary and middle school dad picked me up every day for lunch before going to work.

You and he worked the second shift and did not leave for work until around 2:00 p.m.
Many days, dad would bring a carload of classmates with me for lunch.
I remember as if it were yesterday the faces of my Jewish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Irish
And Italian friends when first introduced to octopus, Spanish tortilla, caldo Gallego, and flan.

The same was true during college and law school.  At times our home resembled an
U.N. General Assembly meeting—but always featuring food. You always treated my
Closest friends as if they were your children and a number of them to this day love
You as a second mother though they have not seen you for many years.

You had tremendous passion and affinity for being a mother (a great pity to have just one child).
It made you over-protective. You bought my clothes at an exclusive boutique. I became a
Living doll for someone denied such toys as a young girl. You would not let me out of your sight and
Kept me in a germ-free environment that eventually produced some negative health issues.

My pediatrician told you often “I want to see him with ***** finger nails and scraped knees.”
You dismissed the statement as a joke. You’d take me often to the park and to my
Favorite merry-go-round. But I had not one friend until I was seven or eight and then just one.
I did not have a real circle of friends until I was about 13 years old. Sad.

I was walking and talking up a storm in complete sentences when I was one year old.
You were concerned and took me to my pediatrician who laughed. He showed me a
Keychain and asked, “What is this Danny.” “Those are your car keys” I replied. After a longer
Evaluation he told my mom it was important to encourage and feed my curiosity.

According to you, I was unbearable (some things never change). I asked dad endless questions such as,
“Why is the sun hot? How far are the stars and what are they made of? Why
Can’t I see the reflection of a flashlight pointed at the sky at night? Why don’t airplanes
Have pontoons on top of the wheels so they can land on both water and land? Etc., etc., etc.

He would answer me patiently to the best of his ability and wait for the inevitable follow-ups.
I remember train and bus rides when very young sitting on his lap asking him a thousand Questions.
Unfortunately, when I asked you a question you could not answer, you more often than not made up an answer Rather than simply saying “I don’t know,” or “go ask dad” or even “go to hell you little monster!”

I drove you crazy. Whatever you were doing I wanted to learn to do, whether it was working on the
Sewing machine, knitting, cooking, ironing, or anything else that looked remotely interesting.
I can’t imagine your frustration. Yet you always found only joy in your little boy at all ages.
Such was your enormous love which surrounded me every day of my life and still does.

When you told me a story and I did not like the ending, such as with “Little Red Riding Hood,”
I demanded a better one and would cry interminably if I did not get it. Poor mom. What patience!
Reading or making up a story that little Danny did not approve of could be dangerous.
I remember one day in a movie theater watching the cartoons I loved (and still love).

Donald Duck came out from stage right eating a sandwich. Sitting between you and dad I asked you
For a sandwich. Rather than explaining that the sandwich was not real, that we’d go to dinner after the show
To eat my favorite steak sandwich (as usual), you simply told me that Donald Duck would soon bring me the sandwich. But when the scene changed, Donald Duck came back smacking his lips without the sandwich.

Then all hell broke loose. I wailed at the top of my lungs that Donald Duck had eaten my sandwich.
He had lied to me and not given me the promised sandwich. That was unbearable. There was
No way to console me or make me understand—too late—that Donald Duck was also hungry,
That it was his sandwich, not mine, or that what was on the screen was just a cartoon and not real.

He, Donald Duck, mi favorite Disney character (then and now) hade eaten this little boy’s Sandwich. Such a Betrayal by a loved one was inconceivable and unbearable. You and dad had to drag me out of the theater ranting And crying at the injustice at top volume. The tantrum (extremely rare for me then, less so now) went on for awhile, but all was well again when my beloved Aunt Nieves gave me a ******* with jam and told me Donald had sent it.

So much water under the bridge. Your own memories, like smoke in a soft breeze, have dissipated
Into insubstantial molecules like so many stars in the night sky that paint no coherent picture.
An entire life of vital conversations turned to the whispers of children in a violent tropical storm,
Insubstantial, imperceptible fragments—just a dream that interrupts an eternal nightmare.

That is your life today. Your memory was always prodigious. You knew the name of every person
You ever met, and those of their family members. You could recall entire conversations word for word.
Three years of schooling proved more than sufficient for you to go out into the world, carving your own
Path from the Inhospitable wilderness and learning to read and write at the age of 16.

You would have been a far better lawyer than I and a fiery litigator who would have fought injustice
Wherever you found it and always defended the rights of those who cannot defend themselves,
Especially children who were always your most fervent passion. You sacrificed everything for others,
Always put yourself dead-last, and never asked for anything in return.

You were an excellent dancer and could sing like an angel. Song was your release in times of joy and
In times of pain. You did not drink or smoke or over-indulge in anything. For much of your life your only minor Indulgence was a weekly trip to the beauty parlor—even in Spain where your washing and ironing income
Paid for that. You were never vain in any way, but your self-respect required you to try to look your best.

You loved people and unlike dad who was for the most part shy, you were quite happy in the all-to-infrequent
Role as the life of the party—singing, dressing up as Charlie Chaplin or a newborn for New Year’s Eve parties with Family and close friends. A natural story-teller until dementia robbed you of the ability to articulate your thoughts,
You’d entertain anyone who would listen with anecdotes, stories, jokes and lively conversation.

In short: you were an exceptional person with a large spirit, a mischievous streak, and an enormous heart.
I know I am not objective about you, but any of your surviving friends and family members who knew you
Well will attest to this and more in a nanosecond. You had an incredibly positive, indomitable attitude
That led you to rush in where angels fear to treat not out of foolishness but out of supreme confidence.

Life handed you cartloads of lemons—enough to pickle the most ardent optimist. And you made not just
Lemonade but lemon merengue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon drops, then ground up the rind for sweetest
Rice pudding, flan, fried dough and a dozen other delicacies. And when all the lemons were gone, you sowed the Seeds from which extraordinarily beautiful lemon trees grew with fruit sweeter than grapes, plums, or cherries.

I’ve always said with great pride that you were a far better writer than I. How many excellent novels,
Plays, and poems could you have written with half of my education and three times my workload?
There is no justice in this world. Why does God give bread to those without teeth? Your
Prodigious memory no longer allows you to recognize me. I was the last person you forgot.

But even now when you cannot have a conversation in any language, Sometimes your eyes sparkle, and
You call me “neniño” (my little boy in Galician) and I know that for an instant you are no longer alone.
But too son the light fades and the darkness returns. I can only see you a few hours one day a week.
My life circumstances do not leave me another option. The visits are bitter sweet but I’m grateful for them.

Someday I won’t even have that opportunity to spend a few hours with you. You’ll have no
Monument to mark your passing save in my memory so long as reason remains. An entire
Life of incalculable sacrifice will leave behind only the poorest living legacy of love
In your son who lacks appropriate words to adequately honor your memory, and always will.


*          *          *

The day has come, too son. October 11, 2018. The call came at 3:30 am.
An hour or two after I had fallen asleep. They tried CPR in vain. There will be no more
Opportunities to say, “I Love you,” to caress your hands and face, to softly sing in your ear,
To put cream on your hands, or to hope that this week you might remember me.

No more time to tell you the accomplishments of loved ones, who I saw, what they told me,
Who asked about you this week, or to pray with you, or to ask if you would give me a kiss by putting my
Cheek close to your lips, to feel joy when you graced me with many little kisses in response,
Or tell you “Maybe next time” when as more often than not the case for months you did not respond.

In saying good bye I’d give you the kiss and hug Alice always sent you,
Followed by three more kisses on the forehead from dad (he always gave you three) and one from me.
I’d leave the TV on to a channel with people and no sound and when possible
Wait for you to close your eyes before leaving.

Time has run out. No further extensions are possible. My prayers change from asking God to protect
You and by His Grace allow you to heal a little bit each day to praying that God protect your
Soul and dad’s and that He allow you to rest in peace in His kingdom. I miss you and Dad very much
And will do so as long as God grants me the gift of reason. I never knew what it is to be alone. I do now.

Four years seeing your blinding light reduced to a weak flickering candle in total darkness.
Four years fearing that you might be aware of your situation.
Four years praying that you would not feel pain, sadness or loneliness.
Four years learning to say goodbye. The rest of my life now waiting in the hope of seeing you again.

I love you mom, with all my heart, always and forever.
Written originally in Spanish and translated into English with minor additions on my mom's passing (October 2018). You can hear all six of my Unsung Heroes poems read by me in my podcasts at https://open.spotify.com/show/1zgnkuAIVJaQ0Gb6pOfQOH. (plus much more of my fiction, non-fiction and poetry in English and Spanish)
Cutezeni Sep 2016
When life gives you lemons,
You squeeze them in your eyes,
You don't think twice, regret
Or get to question why.
For it is written in fate
For it is how it is to be,
You don't get to choose it ,
And you don't get to cry.

You'll fight it, hate it, neglect it and whine,
You'll curse it, resist it, run from it and hide.
But it'll catch you one way or the other,
It's better if it catches you this way than the other.
For it stings like a bee,
Then pains like a wound
And you may think you are enough to take it,
Before it comes back and bites you in the moon.

One shot, two shot, three shot, four
Glasses become empty but the lemons keep coming more.
It's no fun with the acidic
Sourness creeping into my soul.
Yet it keeps coming more, more
And more...

Call it fate,
Call it luck,
Call it magic,
Whatever you must,
It is easier to blame others
Than to put myself under the bus.
A *****-up here,
A ****-up there,
One by one my life has scattered everywhere.

So I take these lemons that life owes
And the ones that I already own,
Trying hard not to put them all in my drink,
Days go by but it feels like a blink,
Maybe I do down them all
Maybe that's become my thing.
But hey, I don't whine about it anymore,
Or fight it, hate it or neglect it
Life keeps changing erratically,
This is the truth, this is my new reality.
Ian Lewis Apr 2013
Life is like lemons.
You can do so much with them
like flavor salads
and top cakes.
Some people don't like them
so they cut them open,
and drain them out into the garden
so their flowers will smell good,
then they throw them away.
But the people who use them for good,
those lemons will never be sour.
Ellie Dec 2010
Life doesn't always hand you lemons
like snowballs they can be thrown at your legs
Down on your knees you'll go,
because lemons are much harder than snowballs you know.

Crippling you for however long,
this harsh act forces you to crawl.
Don't expect a wheelchair, there wont be one for you.  

We all crawled at one point or another
a past lesson; a past stepping stone on how to walk
if you can remember,which I doubt you can
crawling was much easier then.
Back then you weren't use to standing on your feet.

But for whatever reason life decided to chunk a lemon your way
knock you down in the middle of the road,
then run off like some silly little girl, all the while laughing of course

Life chose you.

You with your habit of bad luck and terrible morning breath...
Keep your head up when you start crawl, if not you'll miss the ladder.
As one of life's wonderful attempts to keep you down
just keep going, keep moving forward and when you see that ladder...
don't climb it.

Use it to stand back up
then hunt down a brand new lemon squeezer,
cause I can guarantee life 'misplaced' your last one...
on purpose of course.
You can try to hide if you have a good spot in mind,but you better move fast...real fast. No one throw's 'em like life.
Rose Feb 2019
They say when life gives you Lemons
Make Lemonade

I was given Blueberries
And the first five were Sweet as can be
But soon they started turning Bitter
And Sour
And now I don’t even want to look at the bowl

I looked at you
We talked for hours and hours and your words blinded me
They wrapped me up and I put my trust in you
But a whisper slipped through the ribbon
And I asked a question
And you lied.

Life gave me Lemons wrapped in Sugar
Lemons dripped in Alcohol that I can’t get enough of
Lemons warped into Strawberries and Raspberries
And now their true, brash, abrasive color is showing

How do I make lemonade
When I used all the sugar
Realizing I was stuck with Lemons?
darktowers Apr 2016
When life give you lemons
To me life is a lemon
Nothing in life going be easy
Nothing I say going make
That part of your life easier
Why
Life gave you load of lemons to
You have deal with them daily
My obstacles won't make yours
any easier
E I Alvarez Apr 2013
my hands were cut by thorns
while i was picking
lemons from our tree.

i didn’t know
until later when
the lemons reminded me,
stinging, that you were not there.
erik lubbe Nov 2016
When life throws you lemons.
Why would you make lemonade.
Did mother nature tell you too.
No.
You know what you do?
You throw those lemons back at her.
And say these words.
"I will get my own lemons."
[sigh]
Life and lemons is no pretty site is it?
Flipflop Nov 2012
When Life Gave Lemons
I Tried To Make Orange Juice
Alexander Monday Nov 2012
I still wonder
About the past.
I'm sure most of us do.
Quite cliche of my like to say,
I still wonder
About the past.  

Conflicted, knowing friends won't change.
Jaded by relationships,
As I watch them all fade.
Calmed by smoke, more than fire.
Hard to find inspiration,
Out of things that won't transpire.  

Although the glass is half empty
(sometimes half full),
Why has no one questioned,
Who made a glass so dull?
Because glass cups never were,
Before man made it so.

Where did all that water come from?
Where will it all go?
Like memories that make up life
Paint lemons shades of bold.
John F McCullagh Aug 2013
If Life gives you lemons,
Do not be dismayed.
It’s the hand you were dealt
You’ve a say how it’s played.

Some entrepreneurs might
start lemonade stands .
-or lighten dark age spots
on the back of your hands.
You can use them to clean
or to brighten a ***.
You can use it to cook.
You can do quite a lot.

Far too many people
Are a sour faced lot
Because life gave them Lemons
And they all took a bite.
Molly Morgan Feb 2010
Tomorrow is the day I die
The grass never so green
The lemons from my lemon tree
Brighter than they’ve ever been
Diamond Johnson Jun 2014
When Life gives you lemons
make orange juice
and leave the world wondering how you did it
CH Gorrie Aug 2013
Lemons
ripen, dangling
down; the tree a weary-
headed guardsman at Life's clear gate
to nil.
AM Jul 2013
Second chances
Are simply
Excuses
To open old wounds
And drench them
With lemons
Just for the pleasure
Of the burn
KKM Apr 2014
She walked in with a cut up eye, stardust in her broken bones and a smile
And before he and I could ask, "what have you done now" she held out her hands
In her palms she collected galaxies that sprouted not from this universe but strength.
And when you looked in her eyes instead of brown,
You'd see songs from seabirds that I never heard because,
Seabirds don't sing,
But in this scope they also tight line across the ways her eyes lit up the moon in the sky.
And then she says, "little sister, never let anyone make you manageable. Always remain untamed."
The swirls in her dress when she spun out of the room
Burst out flared frayed and flamed.
She was an atomic cloud of energy, but her rain didn't fall; it splattered.
Then that night wrapped in white sheets that failed to hold me still
Watching her from the bed across from mine,
I whispered: "welcome home, I’ve missed you."
But instead of peaceful prayers and stories of springing surprises,
I hear the sounds of hurt dripping into soft pillows and wet tears.
My sister never cries.
Sitting up in bed with the streetlight glowing on her face
The only thing she tells me using sea salt and lemons,
Dangerous dreams from swimming with the devil
And daggers made from hopeful rising levels
Is, "please don't fade away.”
The cobwebs on my lips where spiders have spun intricate art
On my teeth told her I don't speak very often.
This individuality has been stripped off my tongue
Now I only taste fire made of wooden chips, not adventure.
The sand grains from the park on school premises
And not the beach where at least they'd be water kissed.
Please don’t fade away.
I could be the replica of everyone else; my shadow kind of looks like yours doesn't it?
I sunk back in the sheets afraid of her tears but before I could disappear into blankness
She gathers feathers in her words and asks,
"Who wouldn't drown the stars for you?
You painted yourself with the colour of the ocean
But only you understood the ocean is not just blue
During sunset it’s the colour of fire running through your veins
As you sink your teeth in the bar of yogurt, ambitions, dreams and raspberries.
In the middle of the night it is the colour of the moon
And the ruffles of waves that shake you awake.
During the birth of dawn it is the fight in your heart bleeding electricity in your eyes,
The light of illumination never lacking loyalty in those dreams of the sea you swallow."
What’s more familiar to us, time? Or memories?
Instead of playing life on the record player
We play it by the clock and repeat the same day over again
Our air smells the same, and we all play the same games.
The message is urgent and it lies in all of us.
Please don’t fade away as I lose all of my trust.
Dying in secrecy that no one wants to touch
It’s a boundless barrier, scary bordering scarier.
Please don’t fade away.
Everything inside of us that craves to be heard,
Is bottled up in the same fashion trends clothing our bodies
The same career choices that teach no new hobbies
The same sentences cling to the walls in hallways and lobbies.
The ignorance in not trying new things
Flies into everyone
Maybe it was a plane crash
Made of rumors and old traditions
That killed people’s appetites for new choices
That suffocated the volume in people’s voices
That left me swimming between everything but rejoices.
When I cant think right I walk left
But we are not old photographs that deteriorate our personalities
We are bodies of water but no one needs a shore
No one needs to send you approval when you’re so sure
Like I was told using sea salt and lemons
I’ll build on that with cucumbers and daisies,
Break out. And please, don’t fade away.
How can someone made of flowers be degraded to dust?
How can you sit there in chains that turn you to rust?
How can ugly gnomes manage to catch stardust?
How can monsters keep murdering like they must?  
I don’t know which way the wind will blow
But when it does it will blow strong
And I will not blow with it.
I heard you say society tells you to be yourself
You are yourself, and then society says no you’re doing it wrong.
Here, watch me, it’s like this.
Greyson Fay Jun 2015
Life's just a bottle of embarrassment with a lemon of succes.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
The love pretty please
wait for my
Cherry baby on top
Not some love O-Oreo
I could scream beguiled
Both twirled in swirls
Bavarian cream

Love has torn at the seams
Bad dream hot hit
bounty hunter
Bunny ears of the hop heart
it skips divine lips like a light tower
No other apology cries the thunder

And wait a **** minute
O-Oh-Yes where's my tip

I am not your second
fiddle of stunts
The romance of philosophy

We can fly higher
than anyone
will ever be

The Outgaze O hearts
of symmetry
Being told about their love
or other peoples fun
Twilight apology Wolfin tie outrun

Love O Apology light my pleasure
O on Overdrive no time for the
S letter-word SOS seizure
How many love gestures
of psychology

Love word *O
love
to Outlive
your treasure
Being psyched for physiology
Feeling mighty good right now
Don't blow bubbles like their
stars* of trouble

A few in the A-New heart stays
ever so blue few Good Men
Perfect Zen thumbs up
His or hers how cute
the words up
The Buddha says
Love is a
spiritual existence

The herbs body rubs
Going to the Hubs
Behind all your apologies
Wearing the new Doctor scrubs
Love house of Labs resistance

The morning glory September
rise and stretch your
overworked wings
Believing never comparing
to another love
It's your love

Or very O for outstanding at the utmost
So incredible the feeling
       Loveology
There's absolutely no apology
The love surrender lion and tigers
So bearable

Her turn like a Turnup
Up close nose smells the rose
Picking love out pulling
the weeds
Her red  embarrassed face
of the radishes
The Shy bush compared
to the O outgoing love
A hint of red delicious apple
Buzzing around the
Mulberry Bush_
Big Ben London
O Sweet Lord of magic singing
*Rosebush* fresh lemons
George Bush Patriotic
Chilean Sea Maiden Bass
Love ******

VIP pass especially with love
Here it is his loves
A spinning wheel so dizzy
London foggy she is the
product of the  flower *****
Like a carnival cotton candy
What a head rush
Another apology and a big push
Those hummingbirds of sweet soul
But something ambushed
She got a lump of his
crab meat cheek crush

Getting over someone never to see them

*Picking out all the petals of the rose when she was with him*

How many apologies open heart surgeries
Apology on hold like a new series
*Wake up "O" my muffin*
Cheers to the world of Oats
Fingerpicking Cheerios
*Don't give in  get to know him

Giving/InWay*

New love *Caved In*
His way per click day
High payments to pay off

BMW Billionaire Man wilted
Love head Beamer
Be
_ My__ World the dreamer

That love pain injury, going faster
Strong love never to lose her
Like cancer Santas Deers love prancer

Fine tooth comb
Negative force to succumb

Capitulate
Artsy wings to meditate
She is destined for something
So articulate
Can this be a painful love of fate?
She succumbs to the time given in
To her O Lord temptation
Words stand alone planet of people
Hearing the real voice no recording
From here to eternity the blasted phone

The Love O not to outwit just sit
And lift your gravity of love
Round earth or your flat on the ground or above
someone knows your true love


*She is combing her hair Silkience Queen of the Divination
Love, there should be no apology lifted gravity that loves O went further than he will ever know her sexuality was smiles alive he couldn't learn his numbers.  Where is the love when your heart thunders world of letters and love writers never to apologize we are the real fighters
Out of lemon flowers
loosed
on the moonlight, love's
lashed and insatiable
essences,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree's yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree's planetarium

Delicate merchandise!
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation's
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.

Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.

So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
wells
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a ******
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet.
poetrylover17 May 2013
WHEN LIFE OFFERS YOU LEMONS...,


Life is just strange. Now you may disagree,

But maybe by the end of this poem, you'll see it how i see...
Its true that you can never be right, without doing wrong.
Somehow you don't realize what you have, until its gone.
'Hello' is never very far from 'Goodbye'.
The happiest and funniest memories can make you cry.
There's a little bit of good in everything that's bad.
You cant be really happy unless you were depressed and sad.
You may have a sweet tooth but cannot live without spice.
When you're burdened or pressurized,good always comes with a surprise.
The fear could be greater than the danger itself.
A new 'day' begins, when at night the clock strikes '12'.
A few days after a new hair cut, you feel it was better before.
When your enemy has what you have, you don't like what you had anymore.
The prettiest rainbow appears after a horrible storm.
Only when you're bored, life seems real long.
Life is just strange. I'm sure you have agreed.
So the next time it offers you lemons and bitter-guards,
Just know that its preparing you for something sweet...
Aghhhhhhhhhh
Why is everything so co.mpli.cated.
        Why is nothing how it should be

Nothing good lasts for ever
well it seems to me like nothing good lasts a ******* second

Everything is
Spiralling
Out
Of
Control
          
         Everything was good a week ago
    A month ago
    
Ok maybe not good but better

         Because this ******* life has
        given me the ******* lemons
And although I'm used to ***** lemonade
it's like life still enjoys pelting me with the leftover ones
      
          Until
        I want
    To disappear
Go away
Latiaaa Feb 2014
So sour, yet delicious.
Your lips pucker, your eyes squint.
The tangy juices drip from your mouth.
Citrus smells arose.
Lemons are sweet, their winched.
So sour, yet delicious.
In a tiny bitter lemon tree
there sat an orange, quite obese,
dreaming an ice-cream-reverie:
I would like a scoop of rasperry…
„That cheeky orange“, spoke the lemon tree,
tries to spoil our yellow purity!
Where upon the orange blushed.
„Now you look like a strawberry“
laughed a bumblebee
licking ice-cream happily.
A Writer Feb 2015
They say when life hands you lemons make lemonade
But how can I do that in the pouring rain
When I'm all out of sugar
And misplaced my pitcher and cup
It feels like there's no way to whip it up
So I'm stuck with these lemons
And nothing to do
Oh how I wish I could make a switcheroo
I'd chose something sweeter than lemons
But I can't and I won't
So I guess I'll stick with this poem that I wrote
The Good Pussy Feb 2015
.
                          
                                    ­  L
                             e     e   m      e
                          m       o   n         m
                        o             L               o
                       n              e                 n
                      L               m                 L
                      e                o                  e
   ­                   m           n     L             m
                      o            e      m            o
      ­                 n           o      n            n
                        L           L    e             L
                          e            m             e
                             m        o          m
                                 o      n       o
                                      n     n
In Rome on the Campo di Fiori
Baskets of olives and lemons,
Cobbles spattered with wine
And the wreckage of flowers.
Vendors cover the trestles
With rose-pink fish;
Armfuls of dark grapes
Heaped on peach-down.

On this same square
They burned Giordano Bruno.
Henchmen kindled the pyre
Close-pressed by the mob.
Before the flames had died
The taverns were full again,
Baskets of olives and lemons
Again on the vendors' shoulders.

I thought of the Campo dei Fiori
In Warsaw by the sky-carousel
One clear spring evening
To the strains of a carnival tune.
The bright melody drowned
The salvos from the ghetto wall,
And couples were flying
High in the cloudless sky.

At times wind from the burning
Would driff dark kites along
And riders on the carousel
Caught petals in midair.
That same hot wind
Blew open the skirts of the girls
And the crowds were laughing
On that beautiful Warsaw Sunday.

Someone will read as moral
That the people of Rome or Warsaw
Haggle, laugh, make love
As they pass by martyrs' pyres.
Someone else will read
Of the passing of things human,
Of the oblivion
Born before the flames have died.

But that day I thought only
Of the loneliness of the dying,
Of how, when Giordano
Climbed to his burning
There were no words
In any human tongue
To be left for mankind,
Mankind who live on.

Already they were back at their wine
Or peddled their white starfish,
Baskets of olives and lemons
They had shouldered to the fair,
And he already distanced
As if centuries had passed
While they paused just a moment
For his flying in the fire.

Those dying here, the lonely
Forgotten by the world,
Our tongue becomes for them
The language of an ancient planet.
Until, when all is legend
And many years have passed,
On a great Campo dci Fiori
Rage will kindle at a poet's word.
Ren Jan 2015
All these lemons appear in my life
yellow is always so pleasing to the eye
like sunshine
How many can I juggle before I slip and die
Bitter to the taste
Rinds are a waste
I'll squeeze them all
throw the juice in your face
I hate lemonade
Usgaga Aug 2014
Lollies are sweet
Lemons are sour
Open your legs and give me one hour
Why does Sour Lemon shrug?

Sour Lemon thinks your sour lemons stink.
Why does Sour Lemon think your sour lemons stink?
Sour Lemon shrugs while Sour Lemon thinks.
cuz reasons >.>
John Cena May 2015
when life give lemon
make aids
we all like aids
now we party

join at lemonparty.org

— The End —