"limon" poems - Hello Poetry

My fingertips will never let me forget the scent of stale cigarettes. I was a fool in London. All the friends I made had better accents than me. I dreamed of Bulgaria and Brazil. I walked through mud. I waited for French tides. I trudged in heavy water waders. My hands built a house with stones older than the country on my passport. The etching of cement on my boots still reminds me what we carried there. We drove along tired volcanoes and craggy cliffs in the dark. I never learned how to drive manual. We flew further south. I dried out in the sun. The glands of Spanish streets pulsated citrus mist into the air, my lungs. I never did remember the difference between limon and lime. We stayed in a haunted castel but missed Halloween. The upper peninsula, where Napoleon dreamed of a better dinner. We moved to Shangri-La. Even in Eden, people still snore. But there were cakes laced with flowers. And I was over the moon. Then, a dreamscape. The closest to the Arctic I’ve ever been. We ate deer for dinner. I baked Danish pies. I slept supine in a smoke-filled yurt. It was all peace. It was all over.

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Jan 26, 2015

Jan 26, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC

tigremilk

I Happened Here (Europe 2014)

My fingertips will never let me forget the scent of stale cigarettes. I was a fool in London. All the friends I made had better accents than me. I dreamed of Bulgaria and Brazil. I walked through mud. I waited for French tides. I trudged in heavy water waders. My hands built a house with stones older than the country on my passport. The etching of cement on my boots still reminds me what we carried there. We drove along tired volcanoes and craggy cliffs in the dark. I never learned how to drive manual. We flew further south. I dried out in the sun. The glands of Spanish streets pulsated citrus mist into the air, my lungs. I never did remember the difference between limon and lime. We stayed in a haunted castel but missed Halloween. The upper peninsula, where Napoleon dreamed of a better dinner. We moved to Shangri-La. Even in Eden, people still snore. But there were cakes laced with flowers. And I was over the moon. Then, a dreamscape. The closest to the Arctic I’ve ever been. We ate deer for dinner. I baked Danish pies. I slept supine in a smoke-filled yurt. It was all peace. It was all over.

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WALKING FLAMING CHEETOS Family intention It’s amazing what one can accomplish with a little love, a pocket knife and soft words. Frogs and crickets sing as rain drops fall. I wasn’t creditable she wrote. Looking ignorant optimisms make you. No water, just the tracks of a girl becoming a lady. The irony of that is just breathtaking. Bear hugs, dancing on my feet, being her personal jungle gym and hot limon crunchy flamin Cheetos. Science might contest the will, putting the blame on me As mommy's kisses save the day

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Jun 19, 2014

Jun 19, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC

mcarthur-hunt-jr

Kit WALKING FLAMIN' CHEETOS

WALKING FLAMING CHEETOS Family intention It’s amazing what one can accomplish with a little love, a pocket knife and soft words. Frogs and crickets sing as rain drops fall. I wasn’t creditable she wrote. Looking ignorant optimisms make you. No water, just the tracks of a girl becoming a lady. The irony of that is just breathtaking. Bear hugs, dancing on my feet, being her personal jungle gym and hot limon crunchy flamin Cheetos. Science might contest the will, putting the blame on me As mommy's kisses save the day

10

Me gusta TEQUILA Me gusta CERVEZA Me gusta BAILAR Sobre la MESA Dame Limon Dame La Sal Dame un Cabron para BAILAR Me gusta CHORIZO Me gusta JAMON PERO MAS ME GUSTA BAJARLES EL CALZON

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Feb 4, 2011

Feb 4, 2011 at 5:17 AM UTC

rayos

Parrandera Ditty

Me gusta TEQUILA Me gusta CERVEZA Me gusta BAILAR Sobre la MESA Dame Limon Dame La Sal Dame un Cabron para BAILAR Me gusta CHORIZO Me gusta JAMON PERO MAS ME GUSTA BAJARLES EL CALZON

12

I couldn’t wait for my class to end so I could run outside and find el carrito (Stand) I fell in love with the feeling and the taste before I even knew what love was. I stood outside holding my mother’s hand waiting for her to ask the times she did not ask I would pull on her plaid, decently long skirt and looked over towards the man selling raspados She knew what I wanted and she knew how much I wanted it. I focused on ... el carrito as if looking at it would be enough to call the gods of raspados to have mercy over me They cost $1.50. My mother gives me the money I run over The man says te faltan, no es suficiente (not enough) I was devastated, I began to take step back slowly, I dared to not look at my mother with this disappointment. I barely noticed the lady standing behind the man, she was the boss I noticed she was looking towards my mother Maybe she saw in my mother’s face something convincing, or maybe my confusion triggered a mother instinct Whatever it was, it was enough As I walked away slowly with my first heart break, the lady behind says, tiene antojo, tu daselo (She has a craving, give it to her) I thanked her with my smile and with a slight flitter in my heart of happiness and even more with my taste buds having a celebration just by looking at how this raspado was being made The beautiful sound of the mountain man, holding a metal, rectangular shaver of ice containing it all inside until it was ready to be placed in the cup. The small stones pile one by one when crushed Just big enough to hold shape and small enough to enjoy Then the miel con sabor a tamarindo being delicately set on top, like a creamy blanket in liquid form Si, con limon y sal, porfavor, y poquito chile (add salt and lemon, and a bit of spice... Please) because my mom taught me how to be polite and then, to my surprise the actual fruit tamarindo on top, a light brown coloring with a soft cover on the hardened seed inside It decorated with grace and delight, the treat awaiting for me I felt the richness There I learned my first lesson of kindness

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Mar 17, 2018

Mar 17, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC

The-Voice

A Poor Man's treat?

I couldn’t wait for my class to end so I could run outside and find el carrito (Stand) I fell in love with the feeling and the taste before I even knew what love was. I stood outside holding my mother’s hand waiting for her to ask the times she did not ask I would pull on her plaid, decently long skirt and looked over towards the man selling raspados She knew what I wanted and she knew how much I wanted it. I focused on ... el carrito as if looking at it would be enough to call the gods of raspados to have mercy over me They cost $1.50. My mother gives me the money I run over The man says te faltan, no es suficiente (not enough) I was devastated, I began to take step back slowly, I dared to not look at my mother with this disappointment. I barely noticed the lady standing behind the man, she was the boss I noticed she was looking towards my mother Maybe she saw in my mother’s face something convincing, or maybe my confusion triggered a mother instinct Whatever it was, it was enough As I walked away slowly with my first heart break, the lady behind says, tiene antojo, tu daselo (She has a craving, give it to her) I thanked her with my smile and with a slight flitter in my heart of happiness and even more with my taste buds having a celebration just by looking at how this raspado was being made The beautiful sound of the mountain man, holding a metal, rectangular shaver of ice containing it all inside until it was ready to be placed in the cup. The small stones pile one by one when crushed Just big enough to hold shape and small enough to enjoy Then the miel con sabor a tamarindo being delicately set on top, like a creamy blanket in liquid form Si, con limon y sal, porfavor, y poquito chile (add salt and lemon, and a bit of spice... Please) because my mom taught me how to be polite and then, to my surprise the actual fruit tamarindo on top, a light brown coloring with a soft cover on the hardened seed inside It decorated with grace and delight, the treat awaiting for me I felt the richness There I learned my first lesson of kindness

33

Vous êtes un beau ciel d'automne, clair et rose ! Mais la tristesse en moi monte comme la mer, Et laisse, en refluant sur ma lèvre morose Le souvenir cuisant de son limon amer. - Ta main se glisse en vain sur mon sein qui se pâme ; Ce qu'elle cherche, amie, est un lieu saccagé Par la griffe et la dent féroce de la femme. Ne cherchez plus mon coeur ; les bêtes l'ont mangé. Mon coeur est un palais flétri par la cohue ; On s'y soûle, on s'y tue, on s'y prend aux cheveux ! - Un parfum nage autour de votre gorge nue !... Ô Beauté, dur fléau des âmes, tu le veux ! Avec tes yeux de feu, brillants comme des fêtes, Calcine ces lambeaux qu'ont épargnés les bêtes !

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659

Charles Baudelaire

Causerie

Vous êtes un beau ciel d'automne, clair et rose ! Mais la tristesse en moi monte comme la mer, Et laisse, en refluant sur ma lèvre morose Le souvenir cuisant de son limon amer. - Ta main se glisse en vain sur mon sein qui se pâme ; Ce qu'elle cherche, amie, est un lieu saccagé Par la griffe et la dent féroce de la femme. Ne cherchez plus mon coeur ; les bêtes l'ont mangé. Mon coeur est un palais flétri par la cohue ; On s'y soûle, on s'y tue, on s'y prend aux cheveux ! - Un parfum nage autour de votre gorge nue !... Ô Beauté, dur fléau des âmes, tu le veux ! Avec tes yeux de feu, brillants comme des fêtes, Calcine ces lambeaux qu'ont épargnés les bêtes !

14

Kim kime karıştı kimliği bulanık gecede tuhaf yıldız gülümsedi arkamdan tiyosunu verdi oktavlık bir yokuşta saat yönüyle ilerledim yürüdüm saklambaç sokakta hapşırık tuttu boğazı nane limon kaynat dedi. cüsseli bir neon makyajlı vitrin ona keza seslendi göğün kızı sonra şifalanmalısın bir an evvel. dedi uzanıp bir ayetin koynuna...

0

Feb 25, 2019

Feb 25, 2019 at 11:44 AM UTC

Vaha

Sığınak

Kim kime karıştı kimliği bulanık gecede tuhaf yıldız gülümsedi arkamdan tiyosunu verdi oktavlık bir yokuşta saat yönüyle ilerledim yürüdüm saklambaç sokakta hapşırık tuttu boğazı nane limon kaynat dedi. cüsseli bir neon makyajlı vitrin ona keza seslendi göğün kızı sonra şifalanmalısın bir an evvel. dedi uzanıp bir ayetin koynuna...

15

The West changes you… its wind blowing distant and near A promise you had always meant to keep A feeling better gifted than kept A memory forever waiting —unknown (Limon Colorado: July, 2019)

0

Jul 27, 2019

Jul 27, 2019 at 11:34 PM UTC

kurt-philip-behm

Forever Waiting Unknown

The West changes you… its wind blowing distant and near A promise you had always meant to keep A feeling better gifted than kept A memory forever waiting —unknown (Limon Colorado: July, 2019)

13

Nain qui me railles, Gnome aperçu Dans les broussailles, Ailé, bossu ; Face moisie, Sur toi, boudeur, La poésie Tourne en laideur. Magot de l'Inde, Dieu d'Abydos, Ce mont, le Pinde, Est sur ton dos. Ton nom est Fable. Ton boniment Quelquefois hâble Et toujours ment. Ta verve est faite De ton limon, Et le poète Sort du démon. Monstre apocryphe, Trouble-raisons, On sent ta griffe Dans ces buissons. Tu me dénonces Un rendez-vous, Ô fils des ronces, Frère des houx, Et ta voix grêle Vient accuser D'un sourire, elle, Lui, d'un baiser. Quel vilain rôle ! Je n'en crois rien, Vieux petit drôle Aérien. Reprends ta danse, Spectre badin ; Reçois quittance De mon dédain. Où j'enveloppe Tous tes aïeux Depuis Ésope Jusqu'à Mayeux.

0

302

Victor Hugo

Réponse à l'esprit des bois

Nain qui me railles, Gnome aperçu Dans les broussailles, Ailé, bossu ; Face moisie, Sur toi, boudeur, La poésie Tourne en laideur. Magot de l'Inde, Dieu d'Abydos, Ce mont, le Pinde, Est sur ton dos. Ton nom est Fable. Ton boniment Quelquefois hâble Et toujours ment. Ta verve est faite De ton limon, Et le poète Sort du démon. Monstre apocryphe, Trouble-raisons, On sent ta griffe Dans ces buissons. Tu me dénonces Un rendez-vous, Ô fils des ronces, Frère des houx, Et ta voix grêle Vient accuser D'un sourire, elle, Lui, d'un baiser. Quel vilain rôle ! Je n'en crois rien, Vieux petit drôle Aérien. Reprends ta danse, Spectre badin ; Reçois quittance De mon dédain. Où j'enveloppe Tous tes aïeux Depuis Ésope Jusqu'à Mayeux.

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