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Jesse stillwater Mar 2018
Morning falls
from a budding
   cherry tree;

   the colour
of nightsong’s
waning blossom
   comes to be
       an echo
   only heard
   by the wind

Soundless remnants
   of an intimate
twilight odyssey
   tarry thickly,
drifting lightly
through the landscape
      of dawn

   The hushed echo
   wields the silent
         reverie
      of the night,
   gently rippling
   the rivers that run
   through the heart

The poignant taste
of passionfruit lingers
in the sensory traces
      of a warm
   passing breeze;

      penetrating
   the lonely chill
   of a naked night's
      work of art

                ~


           Jesse
.
     14 March 2018
passionfruit:  any edible fruit of a passionflower
TheSilentScream Jun 2019
Pumping emotion to circulate words,
that's where the passion flies like birds,
grow abundant and fresh, like an exotic fruit,
the flow of magic that settled root,
I set no time to blow no mind,
just write my name, for someone to find,
I plan no art, i'm not looking to be seen,
but if I am seen,
consider me, a passionfruit.

Some find me sweet, some find me ****,
some think of me like I am art,
I'm just a thing grown from this world,
passionate
as a passionfruit.

I hold no aim to be the best,
I'm not looking for some hard test,
I just want to be valued cause,
I am just a passionfruit.
life nomadic Jan 2013
In Ohio I order a pizza.  The menu says one of the items I can put on it is Mango.  That's curious.
I buy a Hawaiian mango at the new Supercenter Grocery Store, and the check-out girl asks
what's this? and I say it's a mango.  She says, no it's not, that's a mango, and points to the green pepper.

In Hawaii, I work at a farm, and pick some Lilikoi. A customer asks my co-worker if we have any passionfruit, and she says no. They ask me if lilikoi is like passionfruit and I say its dakine, but she's a visitor and doesn't understand, so I say, it's the same thing.

There's a Hawaiian family with a fruit stand; I like to trade the extra lilikoi for their really good mangos they grow, but the Hawaiian word is Manako.  Since they know I always want manako, I ask dakine?  They were out, so instead he asked you want some Apples?  I thought he meant those little red pears they call Mountain Apples and looked perplexed when I couldn't see any, so he picked up a clump of miniature bananas.  *Oh, yes I love Apple-bananas.
.
.
Copyright © 2013 Anna Honda. All Rights Reserved.
.
this is all true, couldn't make this up.  :)
Brycical Dec 2013
Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******!

Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.

Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.

The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.
cher Oct 2018
every time you touch me
the skin blanketing me screams,
  a babe newly out the womb.
only air - no sound escapes -
in breaths
breaths
panting breaths!

  just                fingertips
          grazing
     now
                they climb,
         venturing
    to
  unexplored     curves.

every time you touch me
you leave invisible singes glow;
  a masochistic craving for more.
wanton wanting, eager to please
in exchange for pleasure.

your flavour dribbles
spiralling pirouettes across our tongues.
  now, not now, and now.

! l i v e    i n    t h e   m o m e n t !

for you know this moment
will soon be mere memory,
  replayed, looping a single track.
the scene that plays behind your eyelids
      as the curtains fall before slumber.

enjoy and savour his touch;
every time you touch me
vines intertwine between my toes
     flames burn the nape of my neck.
curl, curl, curl, writhe,
a gurgle of a moan.

a rarity of intimacy,
the time of now comes not.
  it's back to the waiting room,
doodling in a notepad,
solving sudoku problems
in the back of my mind.
procrastinate the longing,
begging is desperation.

sickly, the wait invigorates,
a catalyst of passionfruit!
i have no idea what this mess is but i know i miss my boyfriend OH MY GOD
Aaron LaLux Jul 2016
Vegas Baby


Eating sushi,
in the center at the top of the pyramid,
this is The Life,
point blank period.

Hamachi Ahi,
uni unagi,
we eat everything,
up to the last big fish in all the seven seas,
seven seas seven sins,
at the table gamblin’,
wash it all down with all green everything,
green dollars green eyes,
green grass green tea,
from poor to rich tables turn lights switch look how the pendulum swings.

Eating sushi,
in the center at the top of the pyramid,
this is The Life,
point blank period.

Built on the backs,
of high hopes and low self esteems,
where every game is fixed,
and sits upon a million broken dreams,
see I’ve seen,
a man lose everything due to his greeds,
in his passionate pursuit to procure his wants,
he lost all of his necessary needs,

see,
this is Vegas Baby,
where bad things seem good,
and good things seem shady,

though luckily,
I’ve mastered the art of the sin,
so I rarely play,
and when I do play I play to win,
loaded dice cards up my sleeve,
I know the dealer and I paid off the magician,
for I am one of those,
who made it to the top of the pyramid,
so now I sit in a penthouse suite with a sweet freak in my sheets at the Luxor,
I told you before this is The Life point blank period.

Eating sushi,
in the center at the top of the pyramid,
this is The Life,
point blank period.

As I soak,
my bruised bones and my blood diamonds,
in a bubble bath of passionfruit and guava,
this is no joke I exude The Good Life without even tryin’,
my karma mixed with my commas brought me to nirvana,
no Kurt Cobain,
just hurt and pain,
mixed up with this money made my a monster,
no Meek Mills,
or weak wills,
just this student from the School of Hard Knocks that graduated with honors,
some how,
so now,
I’m swimmin’ in endorphins with a princess no tiara,
no tomorrow,
no time to borrow,
and I Bet we’re gonna make Love *** Magic no Future or Ciara,

that’s a pop reference,
if you didn’t get it yet,
Future Ciara I Bet,
Love *** Magic trick,

or treat,
see,

there’s tons of puns and subliminal messages,
in almost ever line I write,
sometimes the sublime subliminals are so subtle,
that I don’t even catch them they escape no alibi,
copy cat killers,
can imitate but never copyright,
they’re just imitation fillers,
while my literature stays genuine,
all illegitimate posers attempts at insight,
pale in comparison to my legitimate ledgers of time,

I’m,
often imitated,
but never duplicated,
I’m,
the Word of God,
plus what Satan said this,
is,
the balance of extremes,
forearms tattooed with pitchforks,
back tatted with angel wings,
this is what happens,
when fashion meets passion,
this is a combination of everything and everything,
this is it that is all,
I am infinitely everything,

and I meditate on all of this,
right here at this restaurant as they stare,
an American dream living legend,
awake in a never-ending nefarious nightmare.

Eating sushi,
in the center at the top of the pyramid,
I told you this is The Life,
point blank period… ∆

Aaron L∆ Lux

Volume 1 of my new trilogy about Hollywood is now available worldwide.
I’ve decided to donate ALL of the profits of this new trilogy to three charities.
Volume 1 profits will go to a charity that prevents abuse and ****** assault on children.
Please support my new book and by doing so you’ll not only be helping prevent ****** assault, but you’ll also be helping set an important precedent in making a statement to other artist,
saying that we all need to start giving back and helping each other more than we have.
PLUS you’ll also be getting an epic book of poetry from an epic best selling poet.
Let’s make charity cool and change the perception of coolness for the better.
Who cares what car you drive or what clothes you wear anymore?
What matters is what you’re doing to help those with less.
We live in this world together and can all give more.

It took me six months and thousands to create this trilogy in it’s entirety,
all I'm asking for in return is a few bucks and a few minutes of your time.
We made the last book I published #1 worldwide and we can do it again.
Simply purchase a copy now for less than it cost for a cup of coffee,
and/or PLEASE WRITE AN HONEST REVIEW about the book.
I’ve priced the book as low as I possibly could with Amazon.
And honestly If you really don’t have 3 dollars to spend,
at least REPOST this message,
or RESPOND to this message,
or something,
anything.
Love.


Here is the link for purchasing/reviewing the book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01I4621OE
betterdays Aug 2014
there are some things,
that just smell so good:
corn freshly shucked, potatoes roasted in campfire coals, carrots fresh from the ground, then washed   and stovetop roasted
basted with butter
and lavender honey.

the nape of my toddlers neck,
that clean fresh hopeful little boy smell.
coffee, straight up, freshly brewed
caramel warming,

passionfruit, strawberries, citrus any type, zested. freshly planed fennel curls, mint crushed for a mojito, roast lamb and rosemary gravy.

the smell of planed wood in the palms of my man's hands as i kiss them. frangipani, coconut tanning oil,
earth newly rained upon. popcorn popping, chocolate melting,
jasmine, orange blossoms,
a grove of pine trees.
warm gingerbread and mulled wine.

salt tang on the morning breeze.
the smell that lingers after the lovin.
garlic and ginger in a hot wok.
salt tang on the evening breeze.
prawns all sea salty and
a crisp cold beer.

sandlewood and citrus aftershave lotion on your smoothed cheek.

nectarines, apricots,
a yellow juicy peach,
freshly bitten.

apple scented shampoo daphne & lilac my nana's smell,
bay *** newspaper print and palmolive soap,
my pop's study.

rose petals crushed.
earl grey tea,
toast just before burning damper and cocky's joy
crisp fresh linen warm from the sun.

so many scents, so many smells...
these are my favourites please feel free to add your's, as long as it's clean
and above board.
damper=camp fire bread similar to soda bread
cocky's joy=goldensyrup.
JovialPup May 2018
When my father asked me what the basis of our relationship was,
I couldn’t give him an answer. Now, as the aftertaste of it -
that bitter tang of overripe mandarins -  
Sits heavy under my tongue and on my teeth,  I can say,
it’s because I love fruit.
I saw you,  
faded and frail, in early winter.
Had seen the promise of sweet giving, of tired roots aching for warmth,
waiting.
You had tried to cut yourself down,
so I became your giving tree.
I tended to you, gave you many of my firsts.
In a way, so did you. At least that’s what you told me.
You had promised me growth.
That you would tend to me
As I did you. That we would create our own harvest.
Apple orchards, cherry blossoms, bountiful vineyards.
I had taken your word to heart.
It was sweet, cloying nectar.  
I let it smother me, sink into my skin.
Let it seep into my veins.
Let it ferment.
I was drunk on your touch, worshipped
the saccharine velvet of your skin,
Like supple nectarines.
You didn’t mind the gentle scrape of teeth
or nails, of wandering lips, my curious hands teasing, testing.
Tracing the ink outlines of sacred swirls and ancient patterns
Adorning an ignorant and undeserving left arm.
Nor did you mind the growing rift, the root rot festering,
the mandarins that were left out on the counter on those hot nights,
the fruit fly that fed on them.
You could not be bothered to bat the fly away.
Worst of all, you forgot to mention
Orange never quite suited you.
Brycical Feb 2015
My breath dances a foxtrot
across her island flavored skin--
coconut and passionfruit
scents grapevine together, as our
joyful heartbeats intertwine
like a hummingbird's wings in air.

Her peppermint lips embrace
my nordic, hipster bear fuzz skin--
her feline eyes sing into
my soul, our flesh folds together
like a hungry flame devours
wood, we burn into crystal ash.
Henry Koskoff Jul 2018
Crimson curtains opening and closing and draping over a cliff say:
          it’s showtime
          (or lights going on and off).

Let’s go through the alphabet and use alliteration:
          Daffy Duck, Porky Pig,
          (or other creatures getting hurt tonight).

I hope and dream that their hopes and dreams have plummeted like their bodies:
          by the wayside
          (or waist-side, or waste-side, or cliffside)—

low tide that surges shores like the seamstress from New Zealand:
          those Kiwis,
          (or feijoas, or passionfruit).

But passion don’t matter to us folks, and neither do kangaroos! We have our own hops:
          Pabst Blue Ribbon draining in sad funnels
          (or Bud Light, a treasure).

Second is the best, but Third is the one with that treasure chest in his stupid palm:
          not even knowing what to do
          (or how to act).

Are you serious, bro? It’s called a shotgun! Shoot it with my key:
          pop the cap to release pent-up pressure
          (or you can just chug normally).

Choo-choo trains chug, Thomas and me, little plastic wheels in hot pursuit:
          I know you can do it
          (or my name’s not Percy),

as I violently consume swizzle sticks before the sepia glow of:
          That’s all, folks!
          (Or is it?)
r Feb 8
We used to have a passionfruit tree growing in our garden.
From ours or the neighbours?
The weather never got hot enough here.
They’d shrivel up fawny dappled globes, dry.
The fence would buckle under the weight of effort.

Look at me with your many eyes, with your many eyes:
Five rays dyed purple
Died waving a white flag
In the coughing August breeze
Died wide-eyed. Turn them to me.

Purple. Sharp. Feelers, whiskers, spikes.
Begging and pleading and clinging and not.

Take me back to bleeding your seeds in your free moments
Opening up, arms in arms.
On your childhood bedroom floor.
You won’t look at me the next morning.

You tell me your insides are like mucus
I can only taste the sweet
I can only taste the sweet I
Can only taste the sweet I can only
Tastethesweeticanonlytastethesweet.
Many eyes.

Change me.
It was something you said in your last hours
And I can’t quite recall.

We are cutting down the tree tomorrow.
What if you had managed it?
What if the summer was warm?
to you, you know who you are. i'm sorry but i regret nothing.
Emily Jennie Apr 2017
You find yourself in another city
Feeling inspired with a friend
A pretty bird with a smile
You find a bar
Where typewriters are on the wall
And pages from books make up the wallpaper
Gin and mezcal
Passionfruit and cherries
The Pet Shop is open
Filled with the opposite ***
Everyone wants to get to know you
Get in your head like the words in a book
Making plans for road trips
And future apartments
Iceland and Nashville
Go before it's too late.
8/2/16
Shayla V Jul 2023
Idling in a wedding gown,
white on white skin reflecting in its paleness
the filth of what has been
and what is to be.
Slips of fabric tease hard lines of shoulder,
a wispy, hyaline veil cascades in reverence
about honeyed curls
and through the curtain, his lashes flutter
a boyish acquiesce.

Fruit trees sprout on the petticoats of the billabong:
desert figs and passionfruit
and currants thick with black flesh
who peel themselves back
to tumble into his wide-open mouth.

Tulle and silk bunch around his knees
soaking in juices from the feast.
Eyelids lower over two blissed out
messy half-moons,
while drool or puke or juice
drivel down his chin
in uneven, marbled strings.
[01-2020]
Starlight Jul 2018
I am an eclair,
With brittle thin chocolate on the outside,
A hard layer of lies that takes little to penetrate,
Followed by fluffy cake beneath,
Soft to mould and ruin with words and teeth,
Following is my inner cream,
My turmoil of delicious darkness,
Liquid courage sliding through my fingertips,
Always out of my grip,
And the soft taste of defeat on my tongue,
As I hit that creamy centre,
Biting away at myself,
Until there is nothing left but breadcrumbs,
And sticky fingers.

I wash it down with passionfruit juice,
Because the tang offsets the misery.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/                       some people
           walk dogs at night...

i tend to walk
a can of red stripe,

a passionfruit
              rekorderlig bottle,

and the entire
    turn off the dark
album by
    howie b....

  1997...

   come to 2018 via 2017
(obviously)...
  
           why has it been
a year since camila cabello
released
                     habana?

sure, it would be great to
have a dog,
  but...

        i don't like the idea
of a leash...

          and petting cats...
well: you can almost forget about
them,

            and you:
literally infiltrate petting them
with the addition of,
a leash.
Travis Green May 2020
I love the taste
of your passionfruit
your delectable flesh
entrancing my mind
pure addictions seeping
in my soul as I embrace
your dynamite dynasty

I love your sensual movements
in my system
how your flame burns
within my heart
awakening the stars
in my heartland
brilliant moonbeams
upon your strong shoulders
insatiable rise of your
brick-hard abs
in my presence
turning me on
as I fall into your arms

— The End —