"lychee" poems - Hello Poetry

There are no bells, but they are there lining the streets, palms outstretched women on their knees between cream-colored petals of orchids carelessly blooming by the drainage ditch their scrubbed feet free of rice paddy mud with palm fronds overhead in their hands, cut butter and fruit for the monks that file past in smart orange robes if you were here, you would watch them with me you would peel lychee fruits for breakfast at this hour the people are wide awake and the day is struggling to keep up somewhere behind the early clouds the sun is winking over the trees morning birds never seem to sing here where the rain has been falling for days

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Oct 11, 2010

Oct 11, 2010 at 6:55 AM UTC

zach-gomes

Thai Aubade

There are no bells, but they are there lining the streets, palms outstretched women on their knees between cream-colored petals of orchids carelessly blooming by the drainage ditch their scrubbed feet free of rice paddy mud with palm fronds overhead in their hands, cut butter and fruit for the monks that file past in smart orange robes if you were here, you would watch them with me you would peel lychee fruits for breakfast at this hour the people are wide awake and the day is struggling to keep up somewhere behind the early clouds the sun is winking over the trees morning birds never seem to sing here where the rain has been falling for days

16

famished lychee bent on treason almost unknowingly furious/ dragging feet all the way to gather the fairest feathers, now lumped under dreary epitaphs.

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Apr 28, 2012

Apr 28, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC

nicole-marie-fraticelli

explaining assent

famished lychee bent on treason almost unknowingly furious/ dragging feet all the way to gather the fairest feathers, now lumped under dreary epitaphs.

8

Lychee blackberry of sweetest variety Shouts the vendor They look juicily nice But when I ask the price Find it too high. Why them forgone Summer’s yields live short I lay my hand on one They are money’s worth. And I think of my place In next year’s summer days What if I vacate this space Nothing forever stays.

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Jun 7, 2014

Jun 7, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC

pradip-chattopadhyay

Nectarous

Lychee blackberry of sweetest variety Shouts the vendor They look juicily nice But when I ask the price Find it too high. Why them forgone Summer’s yields live short I lay my hand on one They are money’s worth. And I think of my place In next year’s summer days What if I vacate this space Nothing forever stays.

13

In every art and artifacts, I'll still find that is pleasing to my eyes, Like seeing lychee that makes want to crave, Craving for resentment in someone's eyes, Turns out I was seeing myself in solitude, This time, it was no ordinary day, I think of every word I have to say, But I had none to lay, Instead of laying in those eyes, Thinking myself what I bargained, To be the highest bidder. Meaning to say, I wasn't looking at any art, I saw something that pleased my eyes, In a quiet place that made it felt like home, Glass panes are all I can see but a single sight to see. A sight that I won't lose till its wings spread A statue that I'm willing to mold by a thread Humanity restored in my eyes. By a single whip of your coiffed hair Like the morning brew that struck me By the color of your hair, that is full of bliss Nevertheless, I'll still get lost in those eyes Making every gaze in my mind A dream that i made, to get lost by the so-called life Moments that i'll spend, for me to keep it from being tainted Savoring every beauty till i faint.

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Jul 12, 2020

Jul 12, 2020 at 9:17 AM UTC

adrunkenpoetinacloset

Curator's Dream

In every art and artifacts, I'll still find that is pleasing to my eyes, Like seeing lychee that makes want to crave, Craving for resentment in someone's eyes, Turns out I was seeing myself in solitude, This time, it was no ordinary day, I think of every word I have to say, But I had none to lay, Instead of laying in those eyes, Thinking myself what I bargained, To be the highest bidder. Meaning to say, I wasn't looking at any art, I saw something that pleased my eyes, In a quiet place that made it felt like home, Glass panes are all I can see but a single sight to see. A sight that I won't lose till its wings spread A statue that I'm willing to mold by a thread Humanity restored in my eyes. By a single whip of your coiffed hair Like the morning brew that struck me By the color of your hair, that is full of bliss Nevertheless, I'll still get lost in those eyes Making every gaze in my mind A dream that i made, to get lost by the so-called life Moments that i'll spend, for me to keep it from being tainted Savoring every beauty till i faint.

26

Every time I have a symposium Following a banquet With my muse I start with three libations With the best lychee wine I can get From Mauritius ! The first is to her eyes The second is to her lips The third to Venus. Then I spread the floor smeared with wine With vanilla perfumes and jasmine flowers While the moon is playing a tune on her flute of Pan Then it's time to sing a hymn And only after all this ceremony and ritual When the symposiarch says : "drink !" And the symposiasts start to drink and be drunk the symposium is declared open, Only then, we can start our tête-à-tête.

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Aug 27, 2019

Aug 27, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Symposium

Every time I have a symposium Following a banquet With my muse I start with three libations With the best lychee wine I can get From Mauritius ! The first is to her eyes The second is to her lips The third to Venus. Then I spread the floor smeared with wine With vanilla perfumes and jasmine flowers While the moon is playing a tune on her flute of Pan Then it's time to sing a hymn And only after all this ceremony and ritual When the symposiarch says : "drink !" And the symposiasts start to drink and be drunk the symposium is declared open, Only then, we can start our tête-à-tête.

20

nothing new here lollygagging sunshine feebly sneaks across feet tangled duvet xylophone of toes bubbles in lemonade form a circle drink fizzles like the death of a firework four high heels foxtrot upon floorboards rainbow notes to one another spread out as dolly mixtures on a table strewn in coffee mug stains resemble sets of braces crumbs on a sofa white socks on the radiator shrivel and dry shave but leave barbed-wire stubble in the sink by accident fingerprints a translucent vine on the shower door mine or yours skin turns lychee-pink rare fossils earrings sparkle under a lamp making pancakes your specialty let my fingers blizzard over every part I haven’t found yet chuck the ugly bits of me out the window get whipped up in your hurricane speak your name

0

Oct 3, 2014

Oct 3, 2014 at 9:11 AM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

Silly Little Crush

nothing new here lollygagging sunshine feebly sneaks across feet tangled duvet xylophone of toes bubbles in lemonade form a circle drink fizzles like the death of a firework four high heels foxtrot upon floorboards rainbow notes to one another spread out as dolly mixtures on a table strewn in coffee mug stains resemble sets of braces crumbs on a sofa white socks on the radiator shrivel and dry shave but leave barbed-wire stubble in the sink by accident fingerprints a translucent vine on the shower door mine or yours skin turns lychee-pink rare fossils earrings sparkle under a lamp making pancakes your specialty let my fingers blizzard over every part I haven’t found yet chuck the ugly bits of me out the window get whipped up in your hurricane speak your name

40

Scabby fixes on brick trinities Nouveau riche social climbers empty holes rubbled interims' morning glories rats jovial Someone's been killing the cats Three half squares broken open Shorn wallpaper on each Large machinery downing old world's new world Kickball is only legend to internet urchins Sitting on stoops punching thumbs on cellular apparatus for the ages Doohickey haves Doohickey have-nots If there must be urban renewal leave me cherry Italian water ice at a buck a pop I don't much care for Cold Stone Creameries' Green Tea and Lychee Martinis

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Mar 27, 2016

Mar 27, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC

pj-poesy

How The Neighborhood Changed

Scabby fixes on brick trinities Nouveau riche social climbers empty holes rubbled interims' morning glories rats jovial Someone's been killing the cats Three half squares broken open Shorn wallpaper on each Large machinery downing old world's new world Kickball is only legend to internet urchins Sitting on stoops punching thumbs on cellular apparatus for the ages Doohickey haves Doohickey have-nots If there must be urban renewal leave me cherry Italian water ice at a buck a pop I don't much care for Cold Stone Creameries' Green Tea and Lychee Martinis

23

The red brick roofs, telephone wires, and soft, evenings like this are what I will remember in the coming years. Sipping lychee drinks and watching the pale pink of the horizon’s glow. And it’s so still, so quiet except for the steady air the breeze of distant cars and children’s voices from the old park. This is the night town, a town of peace. though, really, it’s a village. My village. Unnoticed on common maps. I used to see it as so, so small because I know every path, every hidden street, and all the fields that surround them. But now I’ve realised that it’s holy ground. Ironic for an agnostic, but I love the songs the blackbirds sing outside my window in the mornings, and at night, and now, the time when everything is soft. Since we’ve passed the spring equinox I’ll find comfort in domestic love, in a place it takes fifteen minutes to walk round. Please be quiet. I just want to sit, and listen.

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Nov 8, 2019

Nov 8, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC

skygazer

evening song for a small town.

The red brick roofs, telephone wires, and soft, evenings like this are what I will remember in the coming years. Sipping lychee drinks and watching the pale pink of the horizon’s glow. And it’s so still, so quiet except for the steady air the breeze of distant cars and children’s voices from the old park. This is the night town, a town of peace. though, really, it’s a village. My village. Unnoticed on common maps. I used to see it as so, so small because I know every path, every hidden street, and all the fields that surround them. But now I’ve realised that it’s holy ground. Ironic for an agnostic, but I love the songs the blackbirds sing outside my window in the mornings, and at night, and now, the time when everything is soft. Since we’ve passed the spring equinox I’ll find comfort in domestic love, in a place it takes fifteen minutes to walk round. Please be quiet. I just want to sit, and listen.

41

he called from the edge of a cliff “look to the stars” a peach pit or plum stem in orbit adrift he thinks about being forgotten in the garden overgrown no chemical in the memory and the room is more open now halved with nectar dripping the cosmos exposed and he enters through the stone of a lychee

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Dec 16, 2022

Dec 16, 2022 at 12:23 AM UTC

sofolo

The Groundskeeper, or Taking Flight

he called from the edge of a cliff “look to the stars” a peach pit or plum stem in orbit adrift he thinks about being forgotten in the garden overgrown no chemical in the memory and the room is more open now halved with nectar dripping the cosmos exposed and he enters through the stone of a lychee

27

*** yir ******* skids outta m'ah 'uckin feece! god i love that place, glasgow is like birmingham of the north... a rotten scow to nowhere, unless it be a place that spoke: deep-fried mars bar for breakfast - you scurvy worth of the tangled sailor! **** gods took to the twallop, and i takes me to the rool ups! got a bargain with a shrimp you belfast ***** my **** you 'av! next time they sing: sweet dover, i'll have you marrying the ***** cult of: shard! ye storm ah heed! **** me an' timber twice: V fooking eye of ye, hire-crane! ******** twice, three times removed the drunk... huh?! it's all plus minus with me by now... ha ha! had a cousin, didn't say why, cursed & numbed the cuss words like a nun ought to know why... so i says me: lingua the leash - earn the ir - softspot for the tucker-jacks and the irish lepers: shauns they called them... he he... look at me: all smug and waiting for brussel sprouts out the paan tree... what's with these wallaby terms? panchree? panna quinoa, panna cotta? ******* as clingy as those pepsoowongs, or wangs or pepsoos. as the english queers say F F Θ, but then pull out a churchill - and vey v girman vey such & such... they and way become indistinguishable - churchie and the welsh abbey become one and the same with either V as "peace", or the V and the welsh longbowmen **** you... v'eh point... wayward: too soon... vuck! wook? wookie? va va voom! woonder-brum, brimming, bra bra bra... ha ha ha... dried it all off with the giggles... then it became apparent: the man settled for the dozen, whether it was a dozen of ostriches, hyenas, bunches of lychee, leaks, bulgarian strippers - or worse... a dozen of english rhetoricians, notably gay; **** what a gamble.

0

Sep 21, 2017

Sep 21, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

glaswegian dublíneesh

*** yir ******* skids outta m'ah 'uckin feece! god i love that place, glasgow is like birmingham of the north... a rotten scow to nowhere, unless it be a place that spoke: deep-fried mars bar for breakfast - you scurvy worth of the tangled sailor! **** gods took to the twallop, and i takes me to the rool ups! got a bargain with a shrimp you belfast ***** my **** you 'av! next time they sing: sweet dover, i'll have you marrying the ***** cult of: shard! ye storm ah heed! **** me an' timber twice: V fooking eye of ye, hire-crane! ******** twice, three times removed the drunk... huh?! it's all plus minus with me by now... ha ha! had a cousin, didn't say why, cursed & numbed the cuss words like a nun ought to know why... so i says me: lingua the leash - earn the ir - softspot for the tucker-jacks and the irish lepers: shauns they called them... he he... look at me: all smug and waiting for brussel sprouts out the paan tree... what's with these wallaby terms? panchree? panna quinoa, panna cotta? ******* as clingy as those pepsoowongs, or wangs or pepsoos. as the english queers say F F Θ, but then pull out a churchill - and vey v girman vey such & such... they and way become indistinguishable - churchie and the welsh abbey become one and the same with either V as "peace", or the V and the welsh longbowmen **** you... v'eh point... wayward: too soon... vuck! wook? wookie? va va voom! woonder-brum, brimming, bra bra bra... ha ha ha... dried it all off with the giggles... then it became apparent: the man settled for the dozen, whether it was a dozen of ostriches, hyenas, bunches of lychee, leaks, bulgarian strippers - or worse... a dozen of english rhetoricians, notably gay; **** what a gamble.

72

From the ***** of God, multitudes of visions cascade In to the peripheries of consciousness Epiphanies herded in to magnificent parade Fulsome in all their lusciousness Which God it is is not always clear But the form of her Beauty is sharp and sure The enchantment grows as she dances ever near Consists in her blessing perfect care, cure Bursting out of the hinterlands of repressed psyche She, spirited, splendid, dances Sweeter than peaches or lychee In enamouring trances O form of forms, your beauty sharp I honour you on lofty harp

0

Feb 16, 2017

Feb 16, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC

megan-sherman-1

Form Of Forms

From the ***** of God, multitudes of visions cascade In to the peripheries of consciousness Epiphanies herded in to magnificent parade Fulsome in all their lusciousness Which God it is is not always clear But the form of her Beauty is sharp and sure The enchantment grows as she dances ever near Consists in her blessing perfect care, cure Bursting out of the hinterlands of repressed psyche She, spirited, splendid, dances Sweeter than peaches or lychee In enamouring trances O form of forms, your beauty sharp I honour you on lofty harp

14

Woman, name unknown, I think of your marigold hair, marigold hair and bare feet in the grass. There was a voice: do I ask? Do I disrupt a pleasant scene or would I ***** like a thorn? The dream, to speak your name, become accustomed to its taste, like drinking the sun through a straw. Alas, if only I’d thought before, my mind wandering, thoughts bouncing conker-like, hard and loud. I wished to cradle your smile, a great beam, lychee pink, dismiss the crowds. The chance, sinking, my body stifled by unseen vines, your name a hush of water in my hands but your hair, bare feet, like a summer breeze in the freezing core of winter.

0

Sep 30, 2018

Sep 30, 2018 at 7:11 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

Woman, Name Unknown

Woman, name unknown, I think of your marigold hair, marigold hair and bare feet in the grass. There was a voice: do I ask? Do I disrupt a pleasant scene or would I ***** like a thorn? The dream, to speak your name, become accustomed to its taste, like drinking the sun through a straw. Alas, if only I’d thought before, my mind wandering, thoughts bouncing conker-like, hard and loud. I wished to cradle your smile, a great beam, lychee pink, dismiss the crowds. The chance, sinking, my body stifled by unseen vines, your name a hush of water in my hands but your hair, bare feet, like a summer breeze in the freezing core of winter.

21