"strawberries" poems
.
*Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here
Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced
Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls
A song of honeyed bees' sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose
Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs
Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace
A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume
For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste
What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold
These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose
The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart
Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose*
Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
My lips have always craved the taste of danger.
Maybe it is because I don't know what's good for me
or I'm in love with the high I get from it
The high that takes me to the heavens,
surpassing the pillow-like clouds
resting against the azure canvas
I remember the taste so vividly,
I salivate at the thought of it
It's sweet like candy,
the sugary goodness
rushing inside my veins
delicately coating my tongue
bites between my teeth
explode into a thousand little pieces,
dancing inside my mouth
Your succulent lips pressed against mine,
remind me of the taste of summer strawberries,
juicy and tender with citrusy undertones
we're kissing like there's no tomorrow
Oh how I feel your lips part from mine, then touch
and part again the way the clouds greet the sky
Before a rainy afternoon
How can something so bad taste this good?
Oh I'm convinced your kisses are a drug
Nice to play with, but toxic to the mind
Kissing you must be equivalent to intoxication
shockwaves through my body,
the paralyzing euphoria
I don't think I could ever give you up
This addiction is taking control
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 3:34 PM UTC
Now, today has been a **** day in every single way.
Today was the start of my holiday in Spain, until French strikes,
caused me pain. We were not flying.
Now, I did not weep, wail or flail my skin, instead, I said c'est la vie.
They are so very French.
Reminded myself that the French are cheese eating surrender monkeys,
awful at football (soccer) dreadful at tennis, middling in rugby,
and tend to suffer delusions of grandeur **** a French word!)
They lost at Agincourt, Waterloo, WW2, think snails are a delicacy,and allowed Mr. ****** in to rub their bellies.
But, I am H.A.P.P.Y.
Home
Alive
Prompt
Proud
Y?
Because I'm eating strawberries and cream, whilst watching Wimbledon.
How very British!
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock.
They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet.
They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up.
They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands.
They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways.
But then Monday comes...
Mondays are different.
He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays.
So he changes that.
He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her.
He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors.
He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her.
She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep.
He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently.
She smiles on Monday mornings.
They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up.
She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear.
It remains there ‘til night fall.
They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind.
Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
The evening breeze sings the forgotten songs
Of ghosts of nymphs 'tween silver birches there.
And beams of moonlight fall on grassy lawns:
A pearly cloak e'erywhere the eye sees fair.
So many gentle dawns took care to kiss
Along the flowered, verdant forest floor.
In this blessed land so filled with matchless bliss,
Upon golden and rose-pink blossoms which it wore.
Every visitor that stumbles here
Stops to see the flowers near,
And stoops to pick some strawberries
In the meadows, for their families.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Seagulls squeak and
As thunderclaps salute the laws of physics
I imagine they could speak
Sensory inputs of fresh strawberries become
A raging flood of summer sweetness that
Fuses with the hot electrified air
And I'm daydreaming that
Above this veil of angry clouds
Roams unseen ancient eyes
With tears braver than
What is boundless
Stronger and brighter than even
Endless darkness
They lie in wait
Their love
Their warmth
Bursting forth
Wombs of rainbows
And all that is precious
Yet still untold
Waiting to kiss the atoms of your skin
And once again
Paint your summer smile
Blink and you might forget that
They were you
Before you were even born
Sunset
Sunrise
Watch them never skip a beat
Wake up.
Kick ***
Repeat.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
I want to go on a roadtrip. Away from things that's familiar and safe. I want to get away and break free. Maybe with someone special or maybe all on my own. I want to raid the oldest libraries and read all the books I can to my heart's content. I want to visit museums and coffee shops and ice cream parlors and try everything they have. I want to take a walk to the oldest streets, alone or holding someone's hand, while eating ice cream. I want to explore places. I want to sleep in a tent. I want to sleep under the stars. I want to drive a motorbike. Stop a lot just to appreciate the view, take it all in the beauty before my eyes, breathe fresh air. I want to have polaroid camera and capture everything in the moment. Capture the sunrise and sunset. Capture a boy's wide smile or the old lady's toothless grin or the two lovers' embrace. I want to take pictures of myself smiling from ear to ear. I want to chase the moon and the fog. Spend hours picking strawberries, smelling flowers. I want to throw my hands in the air and dance and feel the wind in my hair. I want to buy souvenirs from each place I go as if the pictures I take are not enough, I want something that will last. I want to meet new people and make new friends. I want to make memories that will forever stay with me.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
Cherries and poppies
raspberries and strawberries
and fallen red leaves,
a burning memory.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
There are grapes in my path
This abundant trail
now invisible as if we never were
Here, to pick and preen, salvage and reap
for pleasure and pain
I picked you some flowers,
I baked you a pie,
labors of love
with your own hands
connected to earth.
Breaking backs, and clinging sweat
Under wool, denim, straw, and cotton
Keeping more out than simply the sun
Depleted soil
Exhausted soul
Bursting with juice
Bountiful and hand chosen
And you in a hurry just drive by
Dust in the wind
Skin of clay mud
Day after day,
A boulder among the rows
Hunched in fields
Blistered and callused
Searching for more
Ripe for the picking
Migrants moving
Servitude by season
Benevolent harvest
Handpicked strawberries
By chocolate covered hands
destined from birth
closer to earth.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
My eyes do not gaze upon who you are
they see the person you will become
I do not hear your words that time will forget
I listen to your heart
When my fingers tingle your skin as they move down your body
I do not feal the scars that life as given you
I feal the memories that you gained in that life
The aroma that comes oozing from your body
is not that of sweat but of your soul
As our lips touch and we kiss for the first time
I will forever remember the taste of strawberries
for it takes all 5 senses to know a person
My eyes to see you for who you are and who you'll become
my ears to listen to your beautiful voice
touch to feel when you are cold
my nose to smell the perfume you brought
and my taste to really appreciate the meal you worked hard to make
it takes all 5 senses to know a person
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
You are the love of my life, my everything
This is how I feel deep inside.
Without you my life would be incomplete
My whole being is so full of pride.
I have joy rushing around my soul
Laughter lives in my blood stream
There is a sense of hope deep within me
You are my strawberries and cream.
You are the perfect cup of tea
The perfect topping on my cupcake
You open floodgates letting love rush in
Without you, well my heart would ache.
I love you more than thee are grains of sand
stars in our sky. impossible to measure.
You are my cherry on top of the icing
You are the perfect golden treasure.
Each time you go I worry begging you back
Each time you leave me my eyes weep tears
I catch each salty reminder that you've gone
They are tiny, damp but they are souvenirs.
I have inside of me love which will not die
a pump that will refuse to lose its tick - my heart
This heart could not possibly hold more love
It is jam packed, it is a complex body part.
For all of these reasons, you are my everything
Without you my body would crumble with pains
My skin would wither, my blood dry in its tracks
Without you I woud have empty veins.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
Sitting a top a cold mountain
I was thinking to myself
As I had my eyes shut,
Wrapped in warm clothing
Bottle of whiskey at my feet
Listening to the eagles soar,
The trees swaying,
The clouds sweeping through
I imagined this warm feeling
Her, laying there naked
Velvet sofa with a book in hand
Legs wide open and tanned
She was so pure so clean
She bare her beauty to me
Soft delicate skin raised my hairs
I could maul her with my thoughts
But I decide to just eat her
Eating between her soft legs
As she read and drank champagne
Moaning after each sentence she read
She would put strawberries in my mouth
As I licked away at her lips
I dipped my strawberries inside her
Since I had no whipped cream
I was stone and she was flesh
An energy so pure in the night
Then, I opened my eyes
In front of a fire, I sang
"To hold you at my fingers tips,
To cherish the gold in the world,
To be set free forever in my mind"
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
But I am relieved.
Not being confined in bright velvets
of the West, or shimmering silks of
the East. Each hand-stitched with
animals and flowers, crystals and
furs, with gold and silver to
parade around in Court.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I find far more splendour in a simple
iris-purple kimono-robe, lightweight,
silk-satin and printed with lilies with
a pink silk trim. It strokes my ankles,
and the sleeves, they billow; the sash
firmly fastened around my waist.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
My handmaid, Ilazi, presents a gilded
bowl with the purest form of fruits -
the ones that were rain-washed. I have
a variety to choose from - strawberries,
blueberries, peaches, green, red and
black grapes which I pick and nibble
on. Hmm, a succulent balance of
sweetness and ****
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then my senior handmaid, Anihana,
arrives with a tray in hand, clearly made
from stainless steel with rose-gold accents.
'Sweet Queen,' says she. At the wave of my
hand, the music stops. 'Forgive me for
keeping you waiting. I know how particular
you are with your pearls so I narrowed
them to your favourite three choices.'
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Thank you,' I say and as I lean up, she
presents three cream-hued scrolls.
'Lists,' says she, 'of all the ship's
inventory. Would you like to
inspect them, my lady?'
'I will after some tea, Ainhana,
thank you.'
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Anihana nods and moves by my side
as my eyes fall on the tray's contents.
A small silver five-minute sand-timer,
a glass teapot with bamboo handle,
an infuser and steel lid half filled
with hot water; steam dancing
out of the spout. Then, a lovely
glass teacup, one of the most
beautiful I've seen yet.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
Spring memes
Cuddle under iced sheets
Seduced by frigid lies
And a burberry scarf;
As snow ploughs rule the runway
Glazed rosebuds,
Thimbled thorns,
Strawberries wrapped in cashmere;
And a carrot-nosed character dressed in white,
Play the fiddle
Naked limbs creep
Into the sky,
Seeking green accessories
For fashion week in June
Amidst global miles of warmth
Grandfather's clock
Ticks wisely ahead,
Hands free of politic;
And the memes of Spring delayed
Propagate through verse
And cliched controversies...
Eclipsed by tweets from the Black Sea.
~ P
(#TheMemesOfSpringDelayed)
(3/7/2014)
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
the clay patio was baking
just hot
enough for the dough to rise and crisp
and for you to spread your blanket
in the sun
perfect for a picnic with the kids
and observing the man on that really tall bicycle
it’s times like these when you think
why doesn’t everyone just shut off
and bake in the sun
with a glass of peach tea and a pair
of well behaved kids
who share life like it was their job to love
each other
their mother
dad
and especially
the old dog
even the young lovers get jealous
as their gaze from the park to
your front patio
witnessing that there is something more to love
than just body heat
chocolate-dipped strawberries
and jazz clubs
that children grow like spinach flowers
in mellow
medallion
heat
until the training wheels come off
and they feel earth’s balance for the first time
and the peaches!
they shackle the branches
like juicy bombs
and you decide that
mothers are like fruit
unbruised
unwashed
and perfect
something that God
herself
keeps in her finest
crystal bowl and replants
in the summer
mother
sister
friend
shoot me some of that peach tea
you’re drinking
that sun you are soaking
that air you are breathing
the world needs more of you
and you deserve the last taste
of its summer light
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
claude: battles tabletop.
reaches for maple syrup, into breakfast,
& breaks down puking.
the girlfriend/abortion situation.
the cash
& cream corn.
smells of deeper spring.
grandma & her bible.
to pray.
to eat lunch.
to television &
honey blunt the relief of a sunday night.
lily: into decay.
into dark days of her america.
detox: she breathes on vapor. sweet leaf.
sweats the heat & dead-dreams off. off on wavelengths &
resonance::: sound therapeutics,
at 528.111 hz,
enhanced dream frequency. she falls
into bliss. into
unopened codons & the rigor
of vibrational analog.
love cassette.
achilles: wheelchair-bound & boning
still. gripping ***
the girl & couch.
the couch & modern warfare.
old warfare: harvest of limbs.
he crawls across the lawn to pick strawberries.
thumbs the dirt for entrance
to another world. smokes a jar
of roaches, as monument
to his second generation revival.
cool.
wallace: & the zebra jeep.
red rock monkeywrenched billboards & the ****** of flame upon milk factory.
chemical factory.
fertilizer bomb///return/
to town & grotto.
porch-light wood & breath of bong-rotation.
the babylon journeyman,
embroiled in plots against the order.
to simply disappear.
to portal away.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
I'm craving for food,
maybe some eggs
or waffles.
Maybe a bacon on the side
and a sausage.
A huge pancake
with a lot of syrup,
strawberries and bananas on the top.
A piece of bread
with ham and cheese inside of it.
A side of fruits of different kinds ,
chocolate
or an apple pie.
A big glass of juice,
it could be orange or cranberry.
The cup of coffee... Oh, I want a cup of coffee.
I want something that makes me feel better
in this cold and hungry morning.
Why not everything mixed?
Why not make a big breakfast buffet?
Scrambled eggs,
waffles with bacon,
pancakes,
the sweet syrup,
some delicious strawberries
and bananas as a topping,
a mini sandwich,
fruits with chocolate
and another dessert.
The glass of juice for the end,
the lovely cup of coffee to begin.
I want to do a breakfast party, I'm starving.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
it seems came her
adrift on mellow breezes
faintly scent o' strawberries
red dawn golden lashes in rhythms
upon a meadow painted by
Emerson words and Van Gogh splashes
so lightly afoot
so not to spoil any of nature
listening
relaying
being
her.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Wild strawberries
Tediously small,
Hiding among the tall pink flowers
And shy butterflies,
Wink and flash sweet 'eat me' red
Under dappled flower shadows,
They burst on your tongue
Tasting like sunshine and honey lemon
Washing like a cool blue lake
In muggy air,
Leaving childish joy
And baby smiles
Then the memory of sweetness to linger,
Until you paw through the hot leaves
And tall pink flowers
And find another, tediously small,
And hold it in your eager fingers
Soft, and brighter than rubies
With juice fresh and sweet
Running down your chin and your
Scarlet fingers
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
~
*Learning to patch. Learning to mend.
Learning to venture. Learning to comprehend.
Learning to capture and befriend.
Inventing the berry. Inventing the cream.
Inventing sweet slices before bedtime
and the Fragaria colored dream.
Loving new life. Loving each child.
Securing the stem and raising the vine
by loving the wife.*
~
May 29, 2023
May 29, 2023 at 2:56 PM UTC
A love of mine smelled like
Summertime Strawberries
In the middle of fall.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,
Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.
7.2k
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america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
These are the berries
Tucked with love and sweet ripe red
And kisses to keep.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC