"marmalade" poems
It's beginning...
As my day matured into the tangerine sun.
Familiar feelings effortlessly conjured as the same old tales were spun.
Some came in hues of marmalade
Traces of citrus that left in haste.
Initial sweetness on the palate that would fade
Only making way for a bitter aftertaste.
A few were wrapped in tints of ginger.
A jolt-like sensation that spoke...
Intense and unmistakable in nature.
Like glowing embers engulfed in latent flames and smoke.
Several bore the colours and scent of marigold
Boasting of orange petals whimsically waving to the clouds...
Whispering hints of rumours from days of old,
Days of when mine was the only silent face in a boisterous crowd.
The ones forged in bronze were few and hardly said.
Like the only compelling excerpt embedded within infinite chapters.
Hidden words in plain sight strung together boldly in red.
Rubies cast carelessly in the swiftest of rivers...
It is beginning...
The end of today as the sun grew redder...
I'd bide the sands of time as it slips away into forever...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
*She's like deliquescent caramel,
the cool side of a pillow
to lay your weary head,
subtleties of springtime &
warmth in wintertide,
whispering hope upon lush
Zephyrus pipe dreams,
mellifluous nymph with wings
of a butterfly warrior,
softly determined,
unfailingly true-hearted,
whilst relentlessly ferocious
Wise, yet sometimes struts
blindly in the light,
as dulcet tones of a cello's
melodious marmalade
in sentiment's tender fancy,
she's beauty, charm,
knowledge, poetry,
utter strength,
& humane weaknesses,
she's twisted and ethereal,
her aura sublimely captivating
you may covet her body,
you'll never possess her soul*
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
I tried
to throw it out
along with the bubbles,
the yellow duck,
and the knickers the dog crudely
chewed
pushed it amongst silled plants,
now it stands,
between Thick Cut Marmalade
and Chlorine Free Baking Cups
a token, painted green with white
Maori dots, symbolizing
the small dreamings
of a tortoise
and since this house
is my body, see
how I have placed you
in the kitchen
and I cannot get beyond,
the simple meaning,
of daily needing
love like water, air
and how I don't seek
to see it fully
yet often find myself
checking if its there.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 12:14 PM UTC
Black girls are the most juicy and sweet candies in the world: melanin masterpiece of nature, bubbly as sweet soda. Dark skin color is the most pleasant and sweet light color. Skin is like chocolate candy, sugar-marmalade taste of lips, only a dark-skinned girl can give the most juicy, juicy and sweet kiss with her big sensual lips. The skin is soft as chocolate sponge cake. Her skin shines beautifully in the light like jam, soft body parts like pudding. Lips and intimate places are so sweet as if juicy, hot, hot dark chocolate, feet like ice cream waffles. The color of her skin is like a sweet delicacy, a gorgeous dessert, sweet chocolate cream, chocolate mousse, an unforgettable sugar taste and you get into the taste, skin as if emitting hot moans of *** The blacker, the juicier and sweeter the skin, juicy relish, the hotter its sexuality and passion, like a panther with strikingly beautiful eyes, like a powerful magnet beckons to itself, fascinating for its beauty.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 12:52 AM UTC
He once asked me, “Do I dare?” To which I reply
with quivering hands and wide open eyes
“How do we disturb what it is that we are?
After all, you yourself are not unlike a star.”
You see, all our lives we spend burning away
We give others light till the end of our days
And everyone else is of star-matter too
so can you not say that the universe is you?
So yes, we must dare to disturb our own minds.
We never know what possibility finds.
It may be art or a universe new.
The outcome depends on what you will do.
So dare if you wish and dare if you will
and dare the world until you have had your fill
because one of these days all our daring must cease
as we turn back to star-matter, reaching our peace.
And we flow on and on to the end of all time
and the universe finally frees our minds
and the mermaids are singing a song just for you
and there’s marmalade, teacups, and fresh peaches too
and the crest of your life has just truly begun
because if you’re a star, then you can be the sun
and the light you give off is a beautiful flare.
It inspires a young boy to ask, “Do I dare?”
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
I will sit here
forever, me
Just wondering why
the blood in
cracked veins
Turns to ink droplets
and became words
on countless pages
This isn't pain
That was not love
Either way
we are F R E E
as animals
Is this an Ancient
Marmalade Sky
and Champagne Rivers
Where we will
float away to
something louder
Then a prayer
I am sewn back together
with no anesthetic
But my insides tucked up
Gloss and clouds
Our memories are worth
every penny
With colours and textures
we are floating away
Under Marmalade Skies
and
Champagne Rivers
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Sprang forth with no branches or leaves. Small roots.
Bore mangoes, papayas,guava and bananas. Hybrid, mid limb grafting.
The trunk is a figment but it stands non less. You see
my family tree never was and always will be.
A roadside shade with low hanging fruit.
Was never planted.It was a deposit from the bowels of an exotic bird
of the jungles that sampled at leisure the offerings of the rain forests.
The Hardtack and marmalade came on ships with the kings business
Mixed with the Nigerian Fu-Fu ,the Aztec maize the Mayan legumes.
and all points of the compass.
Old Joe Denegri, The Blancaneaux , The Cattouse, The Melado, The Pinks
The Flowers,The Orozco and more. And boundless from the ***** of opportunity.
Piecemeal and untethered. But it is the tree that I must cling to.
However rough the bark.
The sap runs heavy and slow in the humid Belizean heat.To meet the earth.
Cool breezes blow a haunting disharmony. A sweet unity in chaos.
The soil is rich,pungent and forgiving. Soon, A bell tolls in the distance.
The Sea mists my dreams.
A stairway of coconut fronds to azure skies.
Nighttime smells like creation.
The still slackened pace.
The small rat race.
Tempest in a teapot.
Urban-rural.
Coolie gal.
Creole boy.
New Chinese.
Old African.
Ubiquitous Espania.
Garinagu. Mosquito coast.
Children of Mennon.
Old Basque faces.
Things we call races left with small traces
of what?
My tree, her tree, histree.
I am you and you are me.
I see me in your face and you see me.
We are and will continue to be.
Blended.
a hybrid. An orchid wild.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
This morning,
I walked with god and man, and animal
I've come to believe,
no other possibility,
He denies me sleep
as His insurance policy
some One wants to be sure,
someone sees His sunrise poem,
He selected this ancien regi-man
to be His admiring audience,
with deer, squirrels, rabbits, a red fox, an osprey
always complaining, why do they get
the cheap seats
so up at five,
no jive,
gotta get there early,
for a good seat,
on the dock by his name
watch the color blue transgender
from feminine elegy elegant pale
to peacock royal male,
the water,
a contributing editor,
phases in with a steely grin,
with ermine whitecap hints
and an orange marmalade sky homage,
I cannot try to describe
and here is where man comes in...
as the tableau reveals a still life
come to be,
a painting enlivened,
come to me free,
bursting with
effervescence and
animal life tribunes,
paying on...
strange...
my Pandora app
back to back,
plays for me
Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue,
hard upon it comes
Saint-Saëns's
The Carnival of the Animals
and I
enfeebled amateur,
needy for a
word titan Titian,
can think only
this trite thought:
*I know not who is the
instrument and who
is the
artist,
but virtuous us,
We, all, now-capital-buddies,
now, all, well-color-capitalized,
god and man and animal,
crooning a chorus of appreciation
let this "accidental" miracle,
this collaboration,
enthuse me,
to live happily
with anticipation
for just one more day...*
June 2014
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
Bromley pale marmalade
on rye bread
in tupperware containers,
flasks of milky tea too.
Pens and paper at the ready to review places:
Anglesley Abbey and Borde Hill
visited on alternating months.
Gardens so awe inspiring
their visual consolation
so uplifting,
manna for the mind
and deadlines for the
horticultural society review.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
All I can think about
Are the things we would do
If I had moved the mountains
That buried you
I pieced you back together
With shrapnel from the glass
Stained with the pigment
From under my eyes
Restless from this rustling wind
Anxious and bitter cold
I feel like the whistle
That rings in your ear
As you lay there
Under the weight
Of broken words
Trying to forget the sunrise
That looms too close
With your sleep captive
In its marmalade palm
Mar 7, 2022
Mar 7, 2022 at 10:44 PM UTC
After a thoroughly enjoyable weekend
Which involved watching an animated science fiction thriller
Followed by a Football World Cup Final
Which turned out to be even more thrilling
I had to face the dreaded prospect
Of returning to work on a Monday
Yes, the notorious villain of the week
Which can ensure sleepless nights
Even for the strongest souls
Well, the day was actually not that bad
To begin with, at least
After a hot bath
Followed by an even hotter cup of filter coffee
Prepared by my dear mother, as ever
I had a simple breakfast
Consisting of a plate of chapatis
Mixed with some rather tangy marmalade
Thus, I was ready
To face the grind of work
Or at least, I thought I was
The reality turned out to be as different
As apples and oranges
It started with a few phone calls
However, the response was not flattering
Thus, I headed to lunch
In the hope of making some progress
In the second half of the day
However, I couldn't have been more wrong
The phone calls failed to achieve their purpose
As I was unable to obtain slots
For the interviews to be scheduled
Moreover, I was dealing with multiple stuff
At the same time
Which proved to be even more difficult
Than obtaining a seat in one of the IIMs
Time was playing a cat-and-mouse game with me
The closer I got to him
The more he would evade me
As the hours flew by
I kept meandering aimlessly
Without achieving anything tangible
By the time I finally got the hang of work
It was already well past 6 PM
And I felt as though I had wasted more time
Than a certain Sunil Gavaskar had done
In his infamous innings of 36 not out, off 175 *****
In the inaugural 1975 Cricket World Cup
Thus, I was thoroughly relieved
When the day finally ended
Returning to work on a Monday
Especially after a thoroughly enjoyable weekend
Is never good
Full stop
Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 10:59 AM UTC
Swinging higher rising from green to a cloudy sky.
She would give up her feet in exchange for flight.
The day closes up shop, the doors locked, she finger paints
rain clouds in the windows, the light of midnight traffic slipping
by glimpses of golden and marmalade light. In a slow blink she sips
black masala tea with cream and sugar with a flicker of melancholy she imagines
the milky light polluted sky and the few stars stubbornly shimmering.
The palms of her hands burning the back of her eyes sweating
strained visions of flowering deserts of hungry sunflowers and parched succulents
she feels the edges of depression creep around her waiting for the last sigh of joy.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 8:47 AM UTC
Memories, that is all I have left,
Candid memories ever fleeting day by day,
I tried to preserve them,
Keep them sweet like marmalade,
I try to keep them,
I don't want them to fade,
But with time the corners curl up like a photograph,
And with time nothing is tangible only digital,
It's hard to hold on to things you can't feel in your hands,
It's hard to see them,
When it's not everyday,
Memories, that is all I have left,
I try to keep them..
Fresh like that pine tree freshener that swings from my car mirror,
I try to hold onto the ring of your laughter,
I try to remember the tenderness in your eyes when you gazed upon mine,
Now just a memory fading with time,
They are just memories sweeping in and out with the tides,
I try to keep pictures the only snapshots left of our former lives,
I try to look at them and imagine them come to life,
But these memories with time are fading like the colors in my hair,
All these memories bittersweet like the tattoos I bare,
They are beautiful but they sting with the air,
All these memories I keep them trapped locked in a box
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 8:54 PM UTC
i am the snow angel,
in the cloud dressed with sheets.
i lay naked,
but still bare wardrobe.
i am a godsend,
a scaredy cat,
an existential ****
my mouth full at 8 am
before leaving my slumber behind.
my mind full before gasping for air,
in my first encounter with this oversized atom.
this speck that just so happens to exist,
and sustain the life i so desperately
want and know is necessary.
my existence, my breaths,
shake everything else into place.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
You asked the color of my dreams.
In sleep, my eyes have sought
The inky black of raven lashes.
Starry nights and sooty ashes.
Prussian blue of fading violets
Indigo of clouds and silence
Beryl skies and turquoise seas
Blue-green waters of the deep
Peacock feathers of emerald green
Mossy dells of faery queens
Fields of wheat and brilliant suns
Amber gold in mid-autumns
Coral reefs and salmon streams
Marmalade and tangerines
Auburn sunsets, titian lips
Hennaed hands and fingertips
Blushing brides and rosy cheeks
Pink hued walls and white topped peaks
Silver moons and crystal nights
Downy geese in graceful flight
Ask not the color of my dreams
The question is not whole;
Deep within my rainbow’d sleep
Lies the color of my soul.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
Poem
I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence
and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe
Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox?
Now clambering onto the icy porch
I open the door into
smells of brass polish, wood polish
pots full of bones.
Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in
I must make marmalade with Seville oranges
with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like
a little sweetness of the blossom
worn on bridal veils will come back
as the flesh boils soggy with pips
and Demerara’s sweetness pummels
and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full
of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying
to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars
My house will be dressed
of stiff forsythia branches, blooming
while I pull on stupoods of wool
socks, and wax my boards
I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing
on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling
separating mills and boon from reality.
If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar
And whispered ancient simple words
And as spring soars from
the dirt he would say agapa me
and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve
which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter
O my mighty easel, you are not like nature
though you are like a highway
of roots, clamped with straps
Supported or shaded, you reveal
all that I am.
The light begins to drop out of ticking stars
onto the snow bank behind the studio
the place where crimson and ochre mate.
I am really a painter
and my brushes are words
which glaze accidentally across
vellum, spurning censure.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
in the mink pith of our dismal mints and our Charlatan hearse fights
in the twice dark vice of our daffodils
you linger effervescent in the marmalade plans
of mice and gin.
you march men into your womb like pixie dust and Ebola.
there, in the devious whiskers of your manticore
i have found you naked and bereft of kin.
an oodle of gimp where the soul
had been, and the gas lights off the marsh
unclean.
the vivid hork of your dead albatross, pondering the hink of your discontinued love.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
Golden sun sets on the concert house;
The hellish day, it’s now been dowsed.
Asphalt night and onyx skies,
Crowds and crowds of endless size.
Yet it rises on the wooden stage;
Burning, scorching, lunar rage.
Curtains of lapis suspended,
For a show that’s highly splendid.
The bands, they take up their instruments,
Checking function with much diligence.
The azure slides, the crowd’s boisterous,
Let’s send them home filled and joyous!
Strum and strike, music sounds and hikes.
Mystically does it flow, no break or pause.
Number after number, avalanche of applause.
Now they’re screaming and whistling! Yikes!
The night wears on, and sapphires glisten,
In skies of turquoise and warm transition.
Marmalade sunrise, it goes on and on!
But nowhere in the hall is there a yawn.
The crowds recede like biped cattle,
An endless, drunken, random rabble.
The next noon, the hall’s still defiled.
Music echoes in their heads, meanwhile.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
She smells like marmalade
and Christmas trees.
She cuts her heart
where she places her knees.
She smokes in the park,
under the skating skies.
She makes me upset
and sometimes I make her cry.
Over in the dark,
she plays in the snow.
And if she feels cold,
I touch her chest
but I don't know.
Bask in the bark:
our names on a tree.
Carved with the knife
that she swung at me.
She says she's drowning in my ocean,
but I feel no emotion.
Her words suggest our bond
is as strong as a noose.
But she only loved me
when I was something to lose.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
I am a gingerbread
sweet tangy ******* head
addicted to making
marmalade sunsets
playing funeral organs
cooking grass
on my BBQ
I stir with
olde english
marinade with you
on a bed of roses
on our hill
growing wild sassy
cooking stews
of parsnips wild onions
marmalade you and
the morning dew.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Morning chat
He died from Dengue, she said.
Who? A doctor on the TV
So a doctor on the TV died of dengue
No!
The doctor who studied dengue
Said no one had died from it
Unless they had an underlying sickness
So the doctor didn't die then
Oh, **** off
Pass me the marmalade.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
I never wanted to go splashing and crashing over the top of a rainbow..
So..
Julie and me sailed off across the jellybean sea to a land..(and here I'll agree this sounds a bit grand. )
But under nursery rhyme trees where lollipops grow out of grandmothers knees and lemonade pop,pops up out of the ground with a lemonade pop popping pop kind of sound and where chocolates galore can be found on the shore by the lakes of cream cakes..
..here we will stay to play every day...and the night never came and each game was brand new..
Wouldn't you want to stay?
Well..wouldn't you?
But the time finally arrived though we had hoped it would not and wiping snot on my sleeve (because boys do that)
We built a matchbox boat and got ready to leave...ready to sail on the sea of despair
I will,I will be going back there to the land of sunshine,funtime..
..and whether it's the jellybean sea or an ocean floating in marmalade tea..
Julie and me will cross it together..
..eating love hearts and living,
Forever.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
the marmalade sun will set just before
the blanket of stars pull through the night sky
the clock will strike twelve whilst everyone's dozing off
and to the previous day we'd wave goodbye
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC