"tropicana" poems
I love Orange Juice.
I am honestly addicted.
Breakfast, Lunch , and Dinner I'll enjoy this yellow liquid.
I 'll even drink some while cleaning the dishes,
mopping the floor,
open my door,
carry my self out and drink some more.
You ever had Orange Juice and Chocolate !?
Chocolate Chip cookies, Kit Kat, Hersey , Sneakers . Chocolate Cake, Fancy Chocolate , Chocolate *** Twix !
Any of this,
fits the Chocolate and Orange Juice Fix.
I love the Tropicana Florida Made Orange Juice.
Is that what the Tropic's like?
Is that what Florida like?
The air and people give you a tang that at first is strange?
But in the end you'll say "I am addicted to these things" ?
I, love, Orange Juice.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
I remember the Tropicana Beau from Syndale,
She delivered my order at the welcome pub Dazzle-
It was the smile she was affording that day,
And now she is the jealous infection from the social bay…
I looked at her same contours hesitantly,
And they have been exposed much sharper delightedly-
She appealed me her demystified glory,
Two weeks later she left her job for the clearance money…
I remember her tears washing the ***** streets in the market,
She was refused by every seller for credit-
Those scanty clothes she was affording that day,
And now she prices her perfection in that way…
I looked at her eyes and she believed in me,
And ma editor startled me, “Sir, who is she?”
She gave me her perfect look and the rest did my camera…
We worked hard to frame her saying, “Love You…Rihanna!”
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
somewhere in hollywood along route 66
stood a cheap motel—
an asylum
for rockstars and their groupies,
artists and and poets and strangelings alike.
the morning only saw its residents,
drunken and drowsy,
and its black-tiled pools as dark as the night;
yet the nights were its prime
when the artists would gather
in the name of music, dance, recklessness.
the syringes would pierce their skin
and the alcohol like ocean waves
washed out the most of them,
and events too unspeakable were the norm.
the motel never attained 5-star ratings,
but it become the playground
for fleeting moments, wild nights,
brewing grounds for creation.
these nights were so loud and colorful,
but only remembered in hazy visions
and muffled sounds.
and so all those nights end here, today:
at the south of The Strip
where some modern, ordinary hotel now stands
once used to be the mess
that the likes of Jim Morrison
and Tom Waits called home.
its guests would have burnt it down,
but they would've wasted their money,
and who has the time anyway?
ladies and gentlemen, the tropicana motel—
a stop over where
wild minds and wild hearts would meet
and eventually go their way,
the place where these legends
of music and madness
came to play.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC
While jaye threw to stephanie's house, shane was brainstorming a tropicana plan. jaye the Brendon Urie's toilet decided to go for a shipping. shane and his friend cat, a cumquat, met jaye at Texas. cat snatched jaye's a ball, his most prized possession. jaye BANGARANG, but shane just laughed and said, ""your mother"". shane and cat married away, leaving jaye stranded. jaye dropped to the ground and EEK CHUK BEEK BANG. He was very confuzzled.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
No problems, just theories
and excuses both lame and creative
extravagance in rare form,
perfect, really
if you wish to boil down the exteriors and denature the proteins
fleshy and energized, totally organic
like a Tropicana Sunday
complete with yellow Voltswagons and STDs.
Why speak of such things?
Shock value isn't worth much,
just a fist in the ***
if that's what you're into
and even if you're not
(especially if you're not)
because then you can't appreciate a good smack when it's deserved
and you begin to feel lonely
like a kid who can do no wrong
so never enjoyed the beauty of time out
only the isolation of magnets on the refridgerator,
domesticity a promise but not an end
only the beginning, a cycle of strife that is fully necessary and advantageous
when placed on the plates of the right eating bunch,
and goodness it's a lovely night
because the stars are still shaped like those homely spoons and beasts
and all the world's at the feet of the manor's Lords and Ladies
such wonderfully pitiful people
though can't blame them for much
only for being so flea- bitten and haughty
when the serfs are just as alive.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
I woke up this morning and realized that I had created LIFE!
A forgotten OJ container, standing in the corner of a seldom used kitchen,
Begat some fuzzy black spores.
You may say that that's gross, but it crosses my mind:
What if I left it there, on the counter, for say, a hundred billion years?
Would I end up with a monkey, a dolphin, or maybe a giraffe?!
And is this what God feels like, when she returns from her nap, her **** or wherever she's been?
Does she glance at the rancid OJ container and say, like me,
"What the heck?? Did I leave that out all week?"
And then will she, like me, carelessly toss it into the garbage??
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
Tobacco, the first intoxicant wrapping me in a gauze of sultry skip days,
Wine, beer, swimming pools with bikinis, suntans, tropicana oil,
Kansas heat on concrete. Lawrence, Ks, KU, art and black, red ochre conti crayons,
Life drawings of nudes on platforms, fat, poor,
glamorous models, how i wanted to be one of them
stripping myself in front of you all,
my young beautiful naked body
you'll never see that again.
Fresh grass and lemonade,
Volvos driving across our country
55mph...80 was faster.
One night stands
led to terror.
Hurting men forever.
Barns and Nobels stealing book
coffee was new
young at 25.
Walking the street in Kansas City,
Warwick street with it's three story walk up
trimmed colonial white
1995.
Tea, herbs, kale with sesame,
Health food shops on corners
young women of 23 starting their biz.
We could do it our own way back then.
Abortion, adoption, college graduation,
law school, med school, drop out,
write.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
I can still taste
oranges on my tongue,
tropicana from tampa,
extra extra pulp in my mouth.
The orange groves are
dying, frost encroaching, and I
can do little; I'm at the
supermarket searching for
coconut oil and lavishing
honey straight from the bottle
onto my tongue; empty
bears litter the linoleum and
the taste of your ***** still
evades my fractitious memory.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
Platinum framed mirroring you writing your song prose
Getting what’s mind, decreeing like in a new age western frontier
In this town with its millions of light lookin’ like star clusters
Fate says, my road’s lamps need reinventing, they don’t understand
But dareling with precise gold mine ears, please hear this call
Add more made-up brightness, enthralled, enthrall
Tell me I’ve the music to match a torch soul
Sunset sound, saying dream, stay up a little longer
Send me to your madly sought paradise
Flareling monied with cinemascope electricity, send me
Embarking as an ember fueled by nearing iconic fires
Not very long now til there’s light enough to read my prayer, this emblem
It goes, American paradise, novel sunshine
This is what I think of driving towards the brightest sky
Volume louder, like the progress through this score
Chose the teaching, try for the best reel, all play, dreams beget reality
Tropicana, records, street signs, finally shameless of my persistence
Fantastic, still on this road of escape thru golden seasons to noon Sunday
Looking up, thought it all strange but brilliant, even shooting stars have an end
So I don’t care
Sitting by the fountain, hearing it say one thing, it went live oh live
Stealing from the poet laurete’s treasured inspiration, and I don’t feel bad.
Wondering at the azure ripples, song verses shimmer like ‘em,
Long hair gleams, statuesque eyes, mysterious surprising only way to live
They said beware through tears, I say, it’s alright to be scared
Rather ask for paradise and rush there before the answer
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 7:17 PM UTC
The thunder rumbles in sore throats
and rivers of yellow speak of high hopes
for the people who plant flowers and complain to pollen
the earth will give you too many chances to worry about sunflowers
because drizzles help
until there you are,
achey muscles and grey face ******* on Ricola
crossing a street to go to work
and how does it happen to be that the first day of rain in a month comes on the day you lose your sunshine
Well today the sun came in a bottle of Tropicana
and tomorrow I will count the losses of those who just can’t take one rainy day
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
spiral days running around more spiral days
we sit crosslegged, barefoot in that circle to
carefree blaze and look to each other to
find our own happy place
lost in that intensity haze
all of us so good in our blissful laze
don't start counting these numbered summer days
cause we're still basking in the sun
we're still holding onto our gun
we still don't need no one
in our blissful laze, in those spiral days,
yeah we're still clinging to our
shading ways, those pretty shading
ways we used to count the lemon streaks
in each other's hair
to fight the summer sun against the spring's in heated compare
those pretty shading ways i got a call and a compliment in
and if this was a door then yes i'm gonna go in
good, they're finally meeting
that squint in your eyes is agreeing to the greeting
yes say aye to aye, eye to eye, eyes to eyes
God, it's lovely, yes, it's a lovely surprise
and you look so hard at me before you finally say
i love the way i love the way
your eyes droop
like a palm that could form a fruit
you're weird, you know
yes i know, yes i know
don't you worry you say
i love the shimmer i love the glow
and your eyes are perfect mirrors
color pouring all the sourness clear if there was any
all the sweetness clear if there was any
all the bitterness clear if there was any
and when i looked at you back with that face you knew what i knew
and so thank you
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
I'm writing about you
Have you ever written about
someone?
I'm writing about you
You're like my design homework
complicated
and challenging
but I want to figure you out
and I want to take that challenge
and I want to exert myself to find you
out
because you're worth more than I
can say right now
and I want to make you a pancake
and write your name on top
in chocolate chips
I'll give you my syrup
and my thoughts
We can drink Tropicana and discuss
how sad we've been
I like you and you're great
You sat by me and I'll never forget
what you said to me
"I can't see ****
and I noticed you for a second time
and it's never felt weirder with you
but weird is my favorite
I want to be your favorite
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
I woke up from a drugged sleep,
Went to work feeling like I had no feet
I speak my mind when my mind goes numb
There's no candy - coating when the sugar runs.
It's unfortunate when benedryl turns me to a zombie shell
But, contrary to my spoken thoughts,
I tend to write pretty well.
So I set my sails on paper trails leading into ink infested wells
Not literally though, I bought a pack of 20 pens on sale.
Caligrapher? I could never be. My mind spits too vapidly.
The metal tips snap back at me, leaving splatters on the tapestry.
I take a bath, I take a bath with a cup of tea
And stupid show on TV, stifling my own laughing
My wife is in the room connected and she's trying to sleep.
I wake her up occasionally to tell her an obsurd thought,
Most of those nights I'm up past three.
I swear she compliments my crazy mind quite perfectly.
She'll read this babble I wrote and tell me I'm silly.
And do you know why? Because I'm silly.
I wouldn't know what to do with a lot money,
I don't want fancy cars or designer meds.
But I'd love a glass of orange juice with some pulp, instead.
I'm not a picky person, but there are a couple things I hate,
Like asking for fresh - squeezed and getting concentrate.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 1:31 AM UTC
When I headbang- and we do headbang
since as far back as we remember-
my hair, shaking like clumps of phantom pom-poms,
has its fun, evading a spotty survivor's guilt,
making good use of training and conditioning
under diverse climates. But it still chafes
against a comb, which is understandable.
I don't relish being grabbed by my throat
although I have been, but very safely,
in the good humor of a modest Tropicana-
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
i'm sorry
tropicana punches greeted bare faces, like the doormat that welcomes your presence
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 7:27 PM UTC