Best Cantaloupe Poems
When you are
an agonizing
echo from a
benevolent voice,
life exhales in
mahogany haze,
spreading across the
lachrymose meadows as
scarred rivulets of
sandalwood scents,
where ceramic
rhymes slumber in
watercolor coffins
with opaque metaphors,
weaving hoaxed
hymns of the nascent
heavens within these
mortal hues.
I'm a bronze brushstroke
of origami colours,
pinned to the weary
wall as the state
of forsaken art,
splattered in acrylic-
resembling sombre
diamonds that
knit ebony pixels
of my onyx heart,
scattered across the
blistered brims,
framed from
fate crossed palms;
doused in poisoned
henna depicted
in dismay, to portray
the painting of despair
within my splitting mind.
Isn't the monochromatic
shade of an aesthetic
mural a clementine
symmetry, where ruby psalms
stained with black peonies,
bleed thistle-ribboned
tales from an orchid's silence?
Not every artist
can mold
peace from a
pastel palette
filled with poignant
petals engrossed
in purple pain,
but poetic fingers
can sculpt an evergreen
masterpiece through
crisp flakes of
tumbling torment,
carried through
arctic mists.
But is there a
teal-azure texture
to create a
timeless tapestry
interlaced with
lavender musings?
As melancholy soars
beyond roseate realms
like a moon-winged butterfly,
fluttering across
cantaloupe sunsets,
etching heartbeats of
hope in harp's periwinkle pigments,
when twinkling jewels
lose their shine,
leaving tales untold
to waltz with
forlorn silhouettes-
dwelling in a gallery of grief.
For, in the calligraphic
corners of chaos,
I’ve found healing,
between ethereal pages
within a cathartic labyrinth.
I can’t believe I thought that there’d be no darkness when it’s dawn,
I’ll be your queen of hearts, even if the cosmos did crack,
‘forever’ exists as an unseen reality, and the sun will always sprinkle saffron crumbles,
upon vivacious petals of violet roses,
painted by poetic dreamers with writers block,
amidst sharpened thorns and thickened thistles.
But why do golden flares burn the selfless skin of silken silhouettes that swirl to his salmon streaks?
Is there no empathy left in cerulean spheres?
I remember the warmth of his solar presence,
and how he whispered sweet tales to the blue breeze;
he said he loves the storm that sits on
the edge of angst,
yet he chose to flee, in the quest of citrine light,
at the sight of roaring rain and raven clouds,
too reluctant to walk beneath skies engulfed in chaos.
I ponder, who am I to blame?
when the truth is, I assumed the splitting songs of this thunder-struck canvas,
would never be a reason for him to erase inked promises.
Perhaps, I should have seen, how the sparkling stars waned in silence,
and the moon veiled its pearl necklace,
tired of the monsoon monsters, mercilessly moving,
above seas so calmly awaiting~
cantaloupe wings of the compassionate sun.
So, today, I’ll follow our honey-glazed dreams,
still left along ivory shores,
adorned with seashell souvenirs,
while reminiscing how, you wove profound pantoums,
from refined refrains of rhythmic romance,
to calm the lawless nature of my inner-psyche. …
Yesterday has passed,
today I shall rise and dream,
let mourning stars fade.
Some flowers may wilt,
Yet fragrance remains when skies-
bleed cantaloupe hope.
Ruby crowned kinglets,
croon and rest on bleak brown shrubs,
as rays of autumn-
swiftly glide amongst,
peridot promises wrapped
in crisp memories.
But when ink comes as
wind-swept secrets tumbling in,
russet streaks of sun,
I'll stretch honey dipped
fingers, to sketch your saffron,
name across twilight.
Maybe dance of leaves,
and flurry hues would define,
unseen tomorrows.
As weightless amber,
carries warm crimson kisses,
Sealed in spiced silence.
So when rosy moon
returns amidst silver clouds
sing sweet songs of love.
You and I, we are-
poetry woven in red,
beneath gloaming gold,
painting crystal clear wishes.
~Marmalade skies~
one spoon at a time they feed
the morning horizon
Soft offerings of color
picked ripe from the vine
~Cantaloupe dreams~
a small slice of moon
the dawn’s crescent smiles on me
with a Cheshire grin
cocked slightly to the side
~Plum pudding blankets~
suspended above life, moving slowly
but coming of the day
as alarms break the solitude
nestled in down feather pillows
~Raspberry whispers~
singing the scent
of the fresh sunrise dew
on wishes coated in sparkling splendor
and footprints beyond the gate
~Nectarine blessings~
sweet on my lips
beneath an orchard arbor
I hold you close to my morning
and taste the bounty of your love
Good morning Soupers
~
I gaze at the sunrise,
it’s apricot view
While spending my morning
just thinking of you
It’s glow on the heavens
a magical scene
Of lemonade wishes
and cantaloupe sheen
Though still it is muted
an off color shade
As something is missing
this dawn now displayed
For until your beautiful
smile comes my way
This morn will be merely
just another day
~
How often I have watched the sun descending into dusk,
and dusk, absorbing sun, exudes bright flavors for the eye.
It's eye candy, often variegated, splendid in its hue.
Those hues, dessert at end of day, sweeten with succulent delight.
What delight in skies of mango, cantaloupe or marmalade,
a marmalade of tangerine with raspberry mixed in!
Sometimes in vanilla skies are Crème brûlée or honeyed gold;
golden dollops of meringue above a lemon ball of sun.
Other times, sun lies concealed by clouds in chocolate skies,
or chocolate with the purple-gray of poi in cotton candy wisps of pink -
pink or bright red cherry heavens, sometimes luscious plum -
that plum reflected in blueberry seas; what treat in watching dusk!
Searched within the walls of my feeble mind
In brain matter scattered, but could not find
proof that orange is just humdrum,
To this conclusion I have come -
if orange is ordinary ~ I'm blind.
Brighter than most, it stands out in a crowd.
Bold enough not to be bullied or cowed.
Tones of setting sun refined.
Shade of ripe cantaloupe rind.
Don't accuse it of being brash or loud.
Lilies and tulips massed in flower bed,
More lovely than roses of crimson red.
Tangerine citrus and its zest,
fruit that many consider best,
Breakfast juice, orange marmalade on bread.
Not ordinary is orange to me.
If you think so look again and you'll see
Orange vest could save your life -
Fields of yams and pumpkins rife -
Coral breasted robins who fly so free.
:::............:::.............:::.............:::
3/4/16 Color Contest: Orange
Sponsor: Silent One
Lemonade soaked sunshine
Peach sweet heat
Watermelon waves taste
Of graham cracker sand
And nestled pomegranate pebbles
On strawberry beaches
In pineapple green grass
Mango daisies dance
Marshmallow clouds dot
Blueberry-smiled skies
Tangerine sorbet sunset
Kisses plum freckled stars
Sprinkled through blackberry night
Under the cooling cantaloupe moon
Until blushing raspberry currents
Awake the honeydew dawn.
7/16/19
Mornings to me
are not an exiting crescent moon
glowing gold in the west,
preparing to retire
below a distant tree line silhouette
Scattered footprints
in the glistening dew
on a lush lawn
still dreaming of the day before
Cantaloupe skies tickling
a sleepy horizon,
restless in vivid ribbons
on a wide eyed sapphire canvas
Yawning morning glories
climbing a silent fencepost,
standing guard in the shadows
of a stately oak
Butterflies floating
on dawn’s cool breeze
quietly touching each blossom
in mosaic laced flight patterns
The enchanting coo
of a stirring mourning dove
spreading its wings amidst
woven branched tapestries
Mornings to me
are always you,
surrendered in first blush beauty,
a breath of every sunrise’s promise,
awakening all that my heart desires
Good morning Soupers
I posted this earlier in the week but took it down. Here goes round 2. : )
To Eat A Peach
Spring is here.
The delicate tree blossoms replace
the delicate white lights of Winter.
From the petals fruit will grow.
Pears, plums, apricots, cherries,
nectarines...
Peaches.
I set the unripe soft rose and yellow
orb on the windowsill.
Two days later I tenderly lift it
and gently squeeze its warmth before
I wash it.
Biting into it...
the sweet liquid is Ambrosia.
The juice runs down my chin onto
my tee.
I greedily suck the peach’s flesh dry.
I daydream as I munch.
Peach cobbler, peach pie with a lattice crust,
peach shortcake, peach muffins,
stewed peaches, peach tea bread,
slices on your cereal, slices in a bowl with cream.
OR...only for dessert?
How would a
chicken breast soaked in a peach marinade taste?
My taste buds begin chattering.
Summer’s here!
corn on the cob, okra, tomatoes:
small ones that pop in your mouth
and big beefy wedges that
garnish crisp celery slices, carrot medallions,
tender Bibb lettuce, sliced mushrooms, cucumbers,
asparagus, broccoli, Vidalia onions, cauliflower...
Watermelon, blueberries, cantaloupe,
strawberries, honeydews, raspberries...
Juicy hot dogs, spicy barbecue, thick charbroiled hamburgers,
hot German potato salad, 3-bean salad, macaroni salad,
potato chips and French onion soup dip,
soft pretzels dipped in brown mustard, popcorn...
chocolate chip cookies, Snickerdoodles,
strawberry shortcake,
chocolate cake with red, white and blue frosting for the 4th,
apple pie
— softball, Mom, doggies —
I awake with a start. There is drool
on my pillow.
Another day begins but it’s really
not another day.
It’s the same day I’ve been living
since 1 May 2017 ~
The day I let the dentist pull
out the last 5 teeth I had
in my lower jaw.
And as I come to consciousness
my tongue pushes
against and spills out over the
the soft toothless tissue that burns constantly
and is covered in a thick gooey saliva ~ place a
teaspoon of Elmer's
glue in your mouth ~ if
you care to have a taste
of my reality.
Summer’s here.
Clear your palate.
Clean your plate.
Barbara Dickenson
1 May 2018
- [ ]
When Neptune's
nostalgic sighs,
weave ruffled rosaries
of brocade ink,
bleeding from
blackberry wrinkles
in torrential time,
I wonder if
herculean eyes
of my earthen heart,
are afraid of being
abandoned by the
electric rhapsody
of life's alienated
aroma.
Swinging on the
translucent
parabola of a
frozen rainbow,
my fate is
skewed as a
cantaloupe
silhouette, of
helix-shaped
maple pamphlets,
where, bluebirds
feast on decaying
seeds of love
and sing
hemlock-croons
in those magnolia
gardens.
But,
what if stars
were edible and
I devoured their
ivory scintilla,
submerging
cosmic potions
in my arteries,
iridescent with
clusters of
quasar's quivering
rays and pulsar's
pistachio glitter?
So now,
I collect
volcanic ash
from rust-orange
ruins of dahlia's
dreamscape
and embalm
them with
paradise-pink hues
of distilled empathy,
for my swan-white
halo of faithful
silence, is still
glowing with
sombre yet
glossy shine
of the linen sun
and I inhale
the fragrance of
my marshmallow moon.
POEM "JELLY BELLY" by martin gedge
A jar full of jelly and a bag full of beans
in multiples of colors in a rainbow of dreams
a taste that you savor in the juicy of a jam
bursting with the flavor in handful sugar slam
mellow yellow lemon and orange to kiss a crush
a fresh of spearmint green with a wild berry blush
grape is wealthy Welch's and the white vanilla sprung
black is licorice heaven like a shadow on your tongue
you can water up the melon or you can passion up the peach
there is apples in the orchard with a tutti-frutti beat
cotton candy carnival and a pomegranate splash
if you had too many root beers have a cappuccino crash
a touch of mango marvel and a margarita mix
for every single drink your are sure to get your fix
banana is appealing and the cantaloupe delight
kiwi has a craving and the cinnamon a bite
if you like pop into your pudding there chocolate to declare
a sherbet and a cheesecake with a marshmallow affair
cream to top your soda in the caramel covered corn
in shapes and different sizes since the jelly bean was born
so when you see the dentist and they don't quite understand
don't look so sour cherry when the Dr. pepper can
the fact is pure as sugar and It's not just bubble gum
a coconut can never stop from eating more then one..
by martin gedge ©
New city street
With the wink of an eye
and a shuffle of feet
We wandered about
down a new city street
Where vendors wore blue
with a tangerine sash
In hopes to look good
with no chance it would clash
Their carts were adorned
with ribbons and beads
And funny designs
made of cantaloupe seeds
They hollered and bellowed
and beckoned us near
And when we did stop,
they let out a loud cheer
They offered us products
like peanuts with cheese
And daffodil handkerchiefs
in case we sneeze
Belts made of feathers
with buckles in red
And weird little cones
you could wear on your head
We bid and we haggled
but always were nice
To get a good deal
and a much better price
The street lined with houses,
most two stories high
With windows like shamrocks
reflecting the sky
The balconies all featured
ribbons and bows
That hung from the railings
such colorful throws
Where women were calling
to neighbors across
For clothes pins and hampers
they hoped they would toss
They spoke in a language
so funny to hear
For what they were saying
was not always clear
The men were all mending
and tending the place
Their hats cockled sideways,
a grin on their face
The knees of their jeans
were all covered in patches
While they polished the brass
on the handles and latches
It seems they were singing
an old fashioned song
We tried to join in
as we walked right along
We laughed and we giggled
so much fun was had
But we had to leave
and that made us both sad
So we promised each other
that we both would meet
Again very soon
on this new city street
~
A halo of amber, the clouds to ignite
Still in the heavens this cold winter day
Rose petal whispers, a scent wafts in flight
Meandering softly to take me away
Dreaming horizons in quiet repose
Morning awakens, sweet cantaloupe lace
Azure reminders in Chantilly bows
Warm the encounter, this sunrise embrace
Daylight now blooming, it’s daffodil shine
Lingers my thoughts of this heavenly view
Knowing this dawn that I see can be mine
Hoping this moment will bring me to you
~
Once I saw a purplish oblong tangerine,
Standing near the hydrant on Sixty-first
I wondered what it could possibly mean,
Then, I was overcome with dreadful thirst
When I watched it skitter quickly away
I was transfixed by its stark underbelly,
Joining a cantaloupe on a teeter to play
While a pigeon danced in a jar of jelly,
The sound of a toad lapping up its milk
Told me reality had not departed from me
Sounds of tongue-in-groove are tantalizing
Especially when crawling over a cup of tea
Are my fellow horseflies merely fantasizing
Or are they, like me, oddities analyzing?
Written August 18, 2022