Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Clear sun on the bedroom wall,
Doves cooing secrets outside.

Here in the kitchen,
bright scent of orange oil
as it’s skin gives way.

I'll open just one today.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
laura May 2018
Start a phase
call it don’t tell Dave
she shows me the way
and puts on a show

it’s the way she combs
my hair
it’s the way she leaves
her makeup near my boyfriend’s
computer watching them tutorials
on youtube

orange and artificial
bright eyes
how i wish i could
be just like you
hate me for something

don’t tell Dave
that my cartharsis comes from
the sparks of her loving hands
it’s the way that i lie awake
lying and the way she moves
Mykle Matwaya Feb 14
Here's to new beginnings,
same'ol same'ol's-
fresh starts and repeated whims.

By-gone's n by-gone's,
buried hatchet's-
to getting even and sweet revenge.

To bitter ba$tards,
forgiveness masters-
letting things go,
reeling them in.

Un-answered questions,
raised suspicions-
the benefit of the doubt,
and dust in the wind.

Here's to decisions-
freedom to choose,
consequences prisons,
and county blues.

Impulsive actions,
cool headed rational-
baby steps and the choice to loose.

Cheer's to the children-
the seed's of Adam,
Daughters of Eve
and the things they do.

The misdirected,
and the rejected,
the rebellious and stupid too.

Maia Vasconez Oct 2018
She undresses like an orange peel.
It's her lace on the rug and
she is so dizzy from kissing him.
Dead Rose One Feb 2015
"montana-says-yoga-pants-illegal" Look up on Yahoo

we got quite the stash,
under the illegal grass,
in our hidden home,
bring 'em out when
it's just the two of us,
looking to get exercised

o'course we have secret codes,
(yogurt slackers)
never call 'em by their real name
in public,
lest we get sent by drone
to the new
orange and black jail

when we be feeling
under our coats
we wear 'em semi-publicly,
but to blend in,
we only buy black,
seeing as we live
in new york seeity,
where we reside,
black be the only
legal color for approved
illegal street walking

never when we travel domestically
in case we get busted,
don't want to face
federal interstate charges
of inciting others to riot sensationally!

this land is not my land,
maybe it is yours,
but if you come alooking
for us, we got a cabin
in the deep words,
where we practice
dress code freedom,
no ties, shirts untucked,
navel (oranges) fully exposed,
button down shirts always  unbuttoned,
(my high school days
revolutionary first strike)
hoping to escape
the idiots we
place above us
to "govern"
Diary of Jane Oct 2017
You are always so afraid to let go
Because you always invest too much
in every little thing you do
You don't know any other way
So you are constantly afraid
of the sunken fallacy-
what if you give up oranges for apples
and find out you liked oranges better?
Najwa Kareem Dec 2018
On an island with so much untouched nature outside, why are the prices of things so expensive inside

Is it really necessary to charge a customer for oatmeal cookies four times the price they should be

Does it really take stealing from people and worrying people to sustain a country; to fuel an economy

Molded apples and molded oranges not having sold quick enough being removed from the shelves in a store

Things are so complicated, I say to a cashier at the register about life as it is now

She shakes her head yes and says, I often ask myself where am I?

written on 12/19/18
Chloë Fuller Feb 2016
Where did you go?
I see the sun set.
I can actually see it go down.
The world gets darker.

So many bottles of champagne surround me.
I celebrate nothing.
I lose entire days.
But men that look apocalyptic fill me up
Until I put my ***** clothes back on
And trample back to my den.
Worn, apologetic, and wishing it would all pass.

Glittered nails and crooked teeth.
I think back on my past relationship and laugh.
Who was I?
Who was he?
I can't even remember anymore.
And that's a good thing.

I just want on vacation.
A long week in Florida.

I've said it about every ex
I'll say it again.

We're going to be okay.
It may take time.
But one day we will talk.
We will laugh.
And we will smile.
I wish you all the best.
And I know
Deep down
You do too.
Azaria Jul 2018
smitten with
like close-fitted
and oranges and
dangling in between
our midnight banter
summing you up
the quirky half
step of your knees
9 mile walks
through the desert
like god existing
between the ridges
of your hands
on my body
your lips and
my laughter
like peanut butter
crackers and
the taste of
Vera Dec 2017
There's so much wisdom in an oak,
with its' dying breath,
of that tree-
I admired the courage it took to change.
Baring a naked soul after shedding layers,
Reds, golds, and oranges-
Cascading down the streets.
In my moments of mourning
I realized-
We don't hold funerals for trees.

#life #grief #sadness
Vicki Kralapp Sep 2018
Autumn’s brusque wind slices its way through the remnants of summer,
painting maples in hues of brilliant oranges and reds.
Long shadows of late September streak across the last blades of grass,
as Fall’s stark contrasts light the afternoon.

The seasonal wind breathes cold with the smell of autumn in the air.
Autumn’s brusque wind slices its way through the remnants of summer,
while cottony clouds in a sea of cornflower blue, slowly slide out of view,
chased down by v’s of geese as they race across the sun.

Helicopter seeds line the sidewalks, green and gold, as others float on the wind,
down to join with cones and acorns awaiting next year’s crop.  
Autumn’s brusque wind slices its way through the remnants of summer.
Crows, harbingers of the winter to come, make their sad calls.

Squirrels pause to pack their cheeks with Fall’s fare and scurry to secret caches,
their bulging cheeks filled with fallen nuts and acorns.
Fall greets me with a kiss as summer bows to its chill, as
Autumn’s brusque wind slices its way through the remnants of summer.
Autumn Quatern.

All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
For fifty cents
we bought ten eggs

For fifty cents
we bought a kilo of oranges

For fifty cents
we drunk espresso
in a coffee
across the street

For fifty cents,
at the flea market,
they were selling
at the car hub,
Jacque Prevert’s
- Charmes des Londres…

We bought that too

Jacques Prevert wrote “Charmes des Londres” in 1952.
*Grocery list for the market 15.02.2003.
SMS Mar 11
I hate oranges and the way
The memory of you lingers in my tongue
A fruity aftertaste full of life and bursting feelings.

I hate bricks and the way
You told me that last day
That you’ve just been trying to build me
Into your version of perfection.

I hate waking up and the way
The thoughts of you choke me relentlessly
Backing me into a corner of false love and comfort.

I hate you..
I hate you and the way..
I hate you and the way I’m still yours.
Tiffany Munguia Jul 2018
live life in warm yellows
when the sky is a dark gray and the clouds are a loveless black
live life in light pinks
when the trees are dying browns and the flowers are wilting ebonys
live life in bright blues
when the waters are a wild taupe and the sand is a rough onyx
live life in the colors of life;
for life is exquisite
but to see such radiance and beauty,
one must be appreciative and live life in warm yellows
and violets.
life is full of color, but one must be able see that to truly enjoy living
We didn’t sleep that night
the fire burning in our eyes,
our lungs filled with smoke and ash.

We didn’t have the heart to put it out.

No, we didn’t have the heart to **** it,
but we didn’t dare leave it unattended.
At some point we'd resolved
to let it die off on its own – but
we didn’t have the heart for that either.

All night we fed the flames
with stories told in delirium-states,
our truths embedded in fictions
occasionally exploding in crackles.

All night we circled the fire-pit
in ritualistic and futile attempts
to escape the capricious winds.

All night the flames danced hypnotic
while the waves on the shore sang lullabies:
homicidal, tempting melodies of sleep.

when the morrow broke the sky
and faint blue crept in,
when the clouds gasped
coloured in superfluous reds and oranges,
when the last flicker finally puffed out
and we could at long last close our eyes,
eternally etched,
we would still see the flames
burning under our eyelids.
mia May 10
my torment is one of clouds and flowers
freckles upon sun-kissed oranges
roses through honey
& eyes like the abstraction of Renaissance

oh butterfly how you make my heart melt
chocolate brownie wonders with giggles on top
your effervescence brighter than a summers day
you have my pure heart within your oppressive interior

silences are filled with images of creation
a cornucopia for even the loneliest poet

I leap into our pool of nostalgia for old time's sake
to find your words transform into serpents.

secret messages whisper into the ears of another
futile flames burn brighter
your eyes ***** my flames & ignite my passion
if only your elusive heart was mine
a work in progress. as always, comment what you think down below!
On The Blazing Bus
The Oranges have a deeper blue
For Us
Than the what we've read in the news
The smoke
That billows
The education that
You could've sold
Rising with the use
Drowning in the fumes
Silence is argument carried out by other means.-Che Guevara
Abby May 5
I want to sprint across the beach at 1am
I want to feel the sand between my toes as my running feet fall into beat with my pounding breath
I want to jump into the sea and explore a world previously unknown to man kind
I want to ride my bike across the island to the marina and help them feed the stingrays
I want to ride the ferry over to the gulf and stay there all day
I want to watch the sunset on the west end and see the sun disappear behind the ocean leaving the sky filled with incredible shades of oranges and reds
I want to feel the crashing of the waves against my legs as I swim deeper and deeper out
I want to stargaze in the hammock
I want my summer back
I, currently dreaming of crystal clear waters and mid 90's weather.
Next page