"orangey" poems
Mosséd trees stand in respect,
a moment of silence.
Still breathing
but stillness dwells.
In amongst the green
a catharsis of orangey-red shades.
The Japanese maple poised,
chest puffed,
arms elegant.
Sight unstirred.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
We walked along the ocean for about an hour
Lost in conversation
I suppose it was needed after misunderstandings six months ago
We encountered lots of things on the way
There were mangroves and wet sand, hot coral, dry sand, sea **** couple dried up sea urchins
A bunch of other ****
Just things the tide had dumped
We stopped for a while to watch the sun
Which was setting, and do you remember how you said
It looked as if, far out on the horizon, this great orangey-yellow ball that was suspended in the sky with invisible ropes
Was slowly being lowered into the ocean, sinking
Never mind me, you said, I’m not making any sense
I understood what you meant, I think, I wanted to kiss you
Waves were breaking, gently crashing into our bare feet
And I noticed this cut on your foot, just a little one,
I think you hadn’t even realised it was there
But I kept quiet, didn’t say ****
And all your toenails were painted blue
And the waves would break over them and slowly retreat,
Leaving your feet wet and toenails glistening,
It was kind of a pretty thing to look at.
I don’t know how to be romantic
I don’t know how to write poetry
All I know
Is that you are a mermaid
And I am drowning,
Will you save me?
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Orangey so tangy loosely
her words flowery so
rustic fun* erotic*
the panic straight
jacket going ginger
snaps her ticket
*Pocketful of sunshine
in your pocket*
****** the maestro
In the stars of the cosmos
On the edge but earthly
Let's go slow
Did we miss the
whole entire glow
"So Tickle me Pink"
The stardust funds
of the trust
Having a light fuse
The picturesque
Fields so mystique personality
Lights up unique
Your word against mine
In a matter of fact were in
It's your cue waves pull me in
If so the sky does it remain
always blue such a variety
Of cookies no outrageous
Time for Oreos
What's inside its outside
Cleopatra's eyes snap away
Like a masquerade
Don't rain on my parade
Love of Virginia innocently
Love is the drug
insanely
Scrapes on her knees
The western front
Ginger Snaps
Those bottle caps and buzzing
honey bees Tangerine trees
Galavant like General Lee
Ginger the gunslinger
She's the singer
eating Saralees
Whats to boot
But getting closer
To the naked eye
to the surface be wise
"Owl Hoot"
So lovely genuinely
He's husky and ruly
Apps Gingersnaps
Exchanging cat naps
Her lips in higher
states of trips
Trying to get there
Bohemian Rapsody
The Queen of the
economy
Photo editing Unicorn pony
Another brainless wedding
We are the champions
What a snitch like a witch
Bad luck switch the lion's den
Topiary timeless good luck Zen
Loud sirens
Drug trafficker morons
The plastic Surgeons
Backstabber persons
Blue jeans snap taking a
Sniff Shiba Uni howls
To be loved in beauty
My Mom Judy good
earth bounty
Tall and sleek every week
Smells of Ginger
no danger
The earth on her cheeks
Can love be any truer
Into the Gala the apple
of her eye never goodbye
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC
Royal Poinciana, the only bliss in the summer!
The stream swiftly flows,
And the livid wind blows,
As many a red bloom throws.
Royal Poinciana, the crimson bud,
Tender sparkling of the red blood;
Like an orangey blazing flame,
And saffron color in precious gem;
Deeply dyed in the rich glow,
Royal Poinciana, the only hallow.
Oh this shiny summer afternoon makes ill,
Watching Royal Poinciana is a mere will.
Soon ruddy blossom would appeal,
In florid color, my eyes would fill.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 7:20 AM UTC
The orangey sun would soon die,
Dipping in the warm open oceans
Black unfeathered birds would fly,
Accompanied with teeth of draconians
The blue sky would be painted black,
And rounded moon would be lighted up
Little suns would start to spark,
With the cricket sounds, abrupt
After 12 rounds of the shorter hand,
The ball of fire will start blazing back
And by the shore, I would stand
Still, wide smiles and plenty laughs I lack
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
I've dreamt a dream
Where it is only me
In a room full of mirrors
And a single dinosaur
Mirrors are one of my least favorite items
It's full of self loathe
And narcissism
But I was focusing on the dinosaur
Whom I could only see
In the mirrors
But I could see from all angles
However, if I turned and tried
To see him with just my eyes
I'd see nothing but a reflection of myself
Now this dinosaur
Didn't appear very old
But then again
It was a dream
And this dinosaur
Was very cartoony
With big blue eyes
And smooth orangey skin
One tooth was sticking out
And its tail was sort of short
But the dinosaur leaned forward
And whispered in my ear
"This is a room of mirrors
Just for you to see
But as you and I both know
This is just a dream
When you awaken I ask of you this
To look at life like you
Have been looking at me
See it from each angle
But don't turn around to
Try and touch it
Because when you do that
You forget about loving
Don't regret a single thing
Feel no shame
For shame means you can't be loved
It's okay to have guilt
Because you recognize your mistake
Your perspective isn't always right
But that doesn't mean you're always wrong
Look at life as though it were a song
Full of ambiguous meanings
And no real solution
Life is room of mirrors
You can either see only yourself
Or you see new ideas"
That dinosaur scared the sleep out of me
But when I awoke I understood more
The dinosaur was a manifestation
Of subconscious being
Life is a state of mentality
Seeing only yourself and a dinosaur
In a room made up of mirrors
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
You’re like an ocean for you always look calm.
But I know behind it is a girl on fire in town.
A woman who is being idolized by everyone;
For you got your word voiced out even if it’s troublesome sometime.
Your personality is like your favorite seaweed.
Spicy yet it gives something to cherish.
You’re like your favorite ramen noodles.
Mind with worries feels like doodled.
You are the sweetness to my bitterness.
By just your wiggling eyebrows, it causes happiness.
You are the chili to every made kimchi.
Always looks fine even if it’s orangey.
Your mood somehow blends with your favorite colors;
You have adopted the calmness of the blue sky; the balancing aura of gray;
The peacefulness of white; brown’s friendliness in a simple way.
These interesting sides of yours will always be remembered.
You are the sour taste in a homemade sinigang.
The happiness I felt in every chocolate’s bite.
You are the coldness in my ice cream;
That balances the feeling that is in warm.
Your dramas are amazing just like your Korean films.
Those songs I love to hear whenever you start to hymn.
You’re proving enough that there is this thing called forever.
I would miss your cheerful smiles and long your crazy laughter.
© Quenniebells, 2015
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
if i thought there would be enough sunsets
peachy pink baths and twilight friction
then maybe i wouldn’t be frozen now.
if that orangey milk could navigate the twisted time belt
and swallow me in the here and now
maybe it would melt me, maybe it would warm me
maybe i would laugh and see the wonders
of the cosmic radiance.
sunsets, though, are not enough
and hope—
it is an idealogical phantom, as love or fear,
it’s as real as you need—as real as you believe
until you run your fingers through it
and all that’s there
is mist.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
When you begin to peel
the orange of strife
you are revealed
a bitter truth
about rebirth of a
sweet, colorly loof
concealed by an orangey shell
trying to show us
sweetness in life
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 8:23 AM UTC
I saw an old blue jay today
unashamed of his baldness.
His beautiful crown reduced
to wispy sprouts of gray,
every which way
like a patient after chemo.
*Beauty cannot exist
without suffering*
I saw our rabbit’s kits yesterday,
they looked like little piglets
nestled in her nest of fur and hay,
plump and tender bodies,
tempting feasts for
creatures of the night.
*Peace cannot exist
without fear*
I saw a hummingbird this morning
and heard her vibrating chirp.
Cautious yet eager she
bobbed and dipped for sustenance
a thousand miles from home
like a prisoner of war.
*Home cannot exist
without longing*
I see an orangey moon tonight
pierced across the breast by clouds,
in halves instead of whole.
A symbol of the way things are,
a broken world that
few take time to notice.
*Consciousness cannot exist
without ignorance*
I looked in your eyes just now
and saw love.
Sickness, disease, danger and fear,
loneliness, loss and uncertainty
is, was, and forever will be
washed away in their blue,
at least for me.
*Certainty cannot exist
without love*
Of this I am certain
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Water
under
the bridge,
rolling
and tumbling,
kissing
the river's
edge.
Trees
bend
in the breeze.
The
lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars.
His *****
strikes
the earth,
overturning
a crawler's
night lunch.
A bottle
of ***
shared
by two
who steer
clear
of the fire's
orangey
fingers.
Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the night's
sky.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
the orangey flame in front of my eyes
reminds me of youth,
of long summers torched by a raging sun
bright as a candle that was lit at each end
endless nights out ran by insomnia
the dark circles under our eyes became our prizes
tokens and trophies of what was loved and lost and never given up
the dreams and defeats we carried
like white billowing flags held high
by our rag tag band of misfit soldiers
our ever loyal friends.
the melt in your mouth summer air
that dissapated from every pore
and filled both lungs full of life
the light reflecting from girls' long hair
like sparklers fired over a glass lake
on the fourth of july
and the blue ocean waves that crashed and turned
when I looked into his eyes
made me invincible
it was the summer of crazy
the summer of liveliness
the summer where watermelon was king
his seedly servants were spit anywhere
and the only true care was not letting the tank reach E
where driving with the windows down
and your hand out the window
made you fly
untouchable
I inhale then release
breathing out all of these thoughts
it is winter
icy and cold
but here in your car
with my feet up on the dashboard
and the radio chanting a song I once knew
I feel that same feeling of limitlessness
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 2:00 PM UTC
Miryam walked with you
through Tangiers
miles from the base camp
still feeling tired
from the previous night
after the late evening
on the beach
hugging and kissing
each to each
not going further
that time
back to the tent
(your tent colleague out)
you and she
lay there
almost making out
but then he was back
and she had to leave
mouthing words to you
as she left
behind his back
then the morning ride
to Tangiers
on the back
of the truck
the smell of the city
the aromas
the people
almost Biblical
the snake charmers
the shops in alleys
the kids
trying to sell you
hashish on corners
and she held your hand
clutching her bag
with her other hand
her curly hair
orangey red
and she talking
of bags and clothes
and how back home
there was
so much more
to buy
and her hand
warm in yours
her small thumb
on the back
of your hand rubbing
as she walked
and you felt
and sensed her
and recalled her
a few days back
on the beach posing
for a photo
with a camel
and a Moroccan guy
in that skimpy
bathing suit
( giving the guy
the heat)
and you taking
the photo
with the borrowed camera
and she stopped
in a side street
looking at clothing
beautiful colours
and this guy
brought out
two cups of mint tea
while she decided
what she wanted
and you sat there
beside her
smelling her perfume
looking at her hair
and lips
and how she held
the small cup
in her hands
sipping
breathing
talking
her eyes
bright lights
her small **** pushing
against the cloth
of her purple top
and the tightness
of her jeans
on her thighs
and the whole scene
like something
you'd seen
in one of those
coloured pictures
in the Bible
the people passing
some with donkeys
one guy
with a camel loaded
and you watched
her sipping
her hands holding
the fingers curved
about the cup
and she talking
of what to buy
and you drinking
her in
all aspects
with your greedy
all too human eye.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 5:35 AM UTC
Matted autumn leaves cling
To every surface
The cold concrete streets
The orangey red brick walls
The chipped facade exteriors
Of road lamps much like me
The peeling rusty paint
Dotted by bits of dampened foliage
Little knotted up black things
While road lamps don’t give a ****
I have to pick them off my clammy skin
And then they get under my nails
They are abundant right now
Like all the other frustrations of my daily life
Sneaky little ********
The air is incredibly damp
It’s thick with fog
Carrying with it a familiarly pungent
But ever revolting scent
Of a funky little diner down the street
That makes my freckled nose wrinkle
Reminiscent of the scent of past disgusts
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 5:11 PM UTC
Early summer
after school
after low tea
of bread and jam
and a glass of milk
you sat with Fay
on the roof
of the pram shed
of Banks House
and looked up
Meadow Row
watching the sun
slowly going down
on the busy horizon
she clothed
in a grey dress
with black plimsolls
and you in fading jeans
and open necked shirt
and she said
my daddy says
I’ve to learn
the Credo in Latin
by the summer holidays
or there’ll be trouble
what the heck’s the Credo?
you asked
looking at the heels
of her plimsolled feet
hitting the wall
of the pram shed
it’s the I Believe prayer
setting out the items
of our beliefs
in the Catholic Church
why Latin?
you said
noticing fading bruises
on her thighs
as the hem
of her dress moved
as she banged her heels
against the wall
because daddy said so
she said
looking
at the orangey sun
in the darkening
blue sky
I don’t know many prayers
you said
at least
not all the way through
except the ones
they teach us
at school
even then
some of the boys
put their own words in
which I couldn’t
repeat to you
she looked at you
her fair hair
adding beauty
to her pale face
and water colour blue
of eyes
best not to
she said softly
don’t your parents
insist you learn prayers?
she asked
no
you said
my old man
wouldn’t know a prayer
if it came up
and tickled his moustache
she smiled
and looked away
then after a few moments
of silence
she said
the sun looks
like a big orange
on a big blue cloth
doesn’t it?
yes
you said
looking skyward
then watched
the traffic pass by
at the end
of Meadow Row
and the bombsite outline
on the right hand side
and the shadows caused
by the lowering sun
then you lowered
your sight
to the fading bruises
on her thighs
and the watercolour blue
of her bright clear eyes.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 2:27 AM UTC
I yam not only orangey
I’m awesomely tightltey whitley
And mostly so correctly
There’s no dirt in my smirk
I believe I’m totally rightly
And you? Are you native bornly?
I was bussed here
And you are from where?
What? Wall? We’re here wrongly?
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
little pockets hid inside big pockets,
storage units with keys
purposely misplaced,
envelopes of documents,
labelled, saved for a purpose
that is no longer memorable,
but still instant recognizable
scenes from a marriage
violent hatreds so great,
that years of a single silence
were successes celebrated,
secrets never secreted
the taste of them
from your gorge
can't be easy erased
once the bile comes up,
you can't stomach the notion
of choking it back down
well past
the limits of inane,
voided arguments
left your bowels cleansed
but your mind throbbing pain bombs,
your body
floored in an exhaustive state
the limits of inane,
voided arguments,
left your bowels cleansed
your mind lobbing throbbing pain bombs,
your body
floored in an exhaustive state
and you dd this to yourself,
so no one helps you up
caches of glimpses of video snatches,
trailers of a life woeful misbegotten,
sudden asunder ripped to the fore,
you know you were there,
know you took part,
is that a younger sadder version of you?
the backyard of your brain
where the cache was dirt buried
kicked open foul odor and
well you smell the screaming hatred fights,
and the reel to reel breaks but you see it
anyway in the orangey brown colors of
time decaying, burnt-edges of video tape
you think your life is tough.
**** you.
did hard time, 30 years,
in a prison with no air or light,
a cell the size of my brain
just when the stench is mostly gone,
the cache ripped asunder
and stink so profound
you gotta lie down,
cause a reflection in a mirror
is ample excuse to put your
head or hand through it
and all you did was go see a play entitled
scenes from a marriage,
and afterwards you keep both hands in your pockets
lest you start choking yourself
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
Small towns,
Are hidden gems,
Like the place of peace we go
In Leverett, for portraits
Of pretty girls who know nothing
Of buddhist beliefs,
Other than what their friends say
At dorm room parties.
And the mountains are small,
Lining the horizon we watched
As the sun set on them all
And we looked from the trash room
For the best view
Of the orangey hues
That reminded us we were closer
Than we thought after all.
But this school, and these people,
And the way they view the world
Sometimes clouds the hearts
Of the young people inside
-The cage of education we’ve created-
And I can’t help but feel
You were one of them,
And I just want you to see that.
We were never wrong.
Only the politics of the situation,
Singing Western Mass’ song,
“freedom, independence,
Social liberation
From the sense of responsibility,
Confrontation,
We are a free-love
And no-love nation.”
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
i don't spit it down the throat of every
girl who makes me feel less dead.. even
if death inside is a starred little sidenote
in the CIA World Factbook, it's some
-thing sacred in my jeans and undershirt
heart-pang-thump boombox screams for
help. I read deep into the books and so arrange
the angry letters to live again inside the head of
someone else who is 'out-there' in the letter-fed
litterbox of word salad, doused in the vinaigrette
of mossy, ancient, cradle-laden sadness. I wonder
if the world is made of sadness and my pain is just
a girder-- I wonder if the world is made of loss and
my heartache just a brick all sunset-red forever within
the orangey dusks of Eastern London urban suburb
industry-- and yet it couldn't be as loss implies an absence--
yet an absence might be matter in the vein of metaphysics
as metaphysicality.. all of it blaring sirens and quiet nights
alone in frothy evening heat, not enough aesthetic to this
new bedroom, lacking dresser-drawers desktop for god
-sakes you still live outta your suitcase ready to **** yourself
and bring your clothing with you like the pharaohs of Giza--
whoever left you stranded on this planet must've taken one
last glance on backwards to whisper rather sympathetically
'good luck' before the tryptamine caused him or her or 'it' to
fade back into the radiowave of the grave with life so condemned
to speech and distinction, you would never be lost in the fade...
what was there to 'say' anymore, except "hey everyone watch
my scars start to bleed *** they're scars we keep cutting on
sharp little ridges pretending they're gonna get better and
better and better again-- hey everyone pay attention to my
pain *** I'm not waving ********* I'm drowning.. I'm not
waving ********* I'm DROWNING"
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
the thick humid air
melts into thin nothingness
and the brightly green leaves
that once accented the bright blue sky
fall down and blanket the earth
turning it into an orangey mess
as we wrap up our necks
and let the wind style our hair
we'll overdose on caffeine
and watch scary movies till dawn
leaves will crunch under our boots
and dead blades of grass will slice up our ankles
summer has died
and autumn has been reborn
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
I'm off to work
25 minutes later
I'm on my desk.
It's empty.
The day passes by
so smoothly
Nothing to stir the heart
I'm in my car
it drives so well
Nothing that makes it stop
I'm back home
dinner at 7 pm.
Nothing exciting to tell
It was a good day.
A fab year
and a decade passes like that.
There's strange odour
emanating from the ether
I look at my hands and feet
now covered in brown-orangey rust
I've turned into oxide.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 4:48 AM UTC
Cantations whispered to me here
She smiles gently overhead
With a summer's orangey glow
And a warmth from ear to ear
I need not make a wish,
For I'll wait not for it here
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 1:53 PM UTC
Your green skin sun-baked,
Crunchy and crispy.
Gummed rice lay over,
Sticky and mushy.
Orangey carrot sliced thin,
Fishy Fish chopped symmetrically,
Unwilling they aligned
bearing the cacophony of sticky and crispy.
Nescient avocado,
Addle-pated eggy,
joined the jarring combination.
Grudgingly they were rolled,
Trimmed into circular disk.
Melding of those was awry
Heedlessly the dish a masterpiece,
Loved by small and Big
Praised by all.
Whatever things may be,
Bad from the start,
Dont be sad for the end
For it may be different,
From what you expect.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 3:02 PM UTC
Water under
the bridge,
rolling
and
tumbling,
kissing
the river's
edge,
trees
bend
in a breeze.
A lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars
ignoring
their
true
light.
A *****
strikes
the earth,
over turning
a crawlers
night lunch.
A bottle
of ***
shared
by two
who steer
clear
of the fires
orangey
fingers.
Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the
night's sky.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
Hannah and Benny
went swimming
at the Bedlam Park
swimming pool
water cold
clear blue
(unless someone ******
an orangey yellow
tang or tone)
they sat on the side
of the pool
after a while
in the water
gets cold
after a while
Benny said
looking at Hannah
in her bathing costume
of dark pink
does indeed
she said
your mother
(Mrs Scot)
didn't seem keen
you going swimming
with me
Benny said
Hannah smiled
she said
wa gang swimmin'
wi' heem?
to me as we left
Hannah said
what did you say?
Benny said
coz ah loch heem
I told her
Benny smiled
don't know what
it means but it
sounds good
what did she say?
nae accoontin
fur taste
Hannah replied
good God
why doesn't she
like me?
Benny said
you're English
and a male
Hannah said
that's about it
what about your Dad
he's both?
Benny said
there you are
Hannah said
that's about it
anyway enough of her
let's get dried
and go get a drink
in the cafe
and you can tell me
about the Rob Roy book
you've bought
she said
o right
he said
and they walked back
to the changing rooms
and he got out
of his wet trunks and dried
and thought about
the slightly bulging chest
that he noticed
Hannah had
and wondered if
she was unwell
or was it just because
she was a biggish girl.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC