Best Citric Poems
Hear the clip-clop of iambic beats
Sounds like Shelley with a side of Keats
Is that the scritchity-scratch of a goose quill flickin’
Or just the tippity-tap of some mouse you clickin’..?
So you a prophet poet, regular Marley meets Dylan
Writin’ about oppression and unjust killin’
Shootin' the Sheriff with a Reggae song
Inspirin' your generation with a sing along
A shot of tequila with a wedge of lime
Saddle up and bide your time
Every line don’t need to rhyme
I can give you a million examples
You don't seem like the lyrical type
Kickin' cold turkey with oranges ripe
That's the fruit that rhymes with nothin’
Fresh squeezed it's good for somethin’
Citric flashback, Tang for the brain
Hyperspace wormholes one cannot explain
Sun dippin' below the rim of a rhymeless plateau
Cow skull and cactus, a timeless tableau
In the twilight gloom, a weather-beaten sign
Free Verse Ranch is the place to dine
Gorge on rhyme-free wordplay victuals
Linguistic linguini and cage-free visuals
Specialty of the house: lemon chicken couplet
With a side of mashed onomatopotatoes--plop!
Gravy sloppin’ down slopes like molten lava
Washed down with mugs of fresh-brewed java
Buzzards circlin' the sky in a lazy ellipse
Moon moseyin' in for a total eclipse
Flee in the dark, take a steed for a ride
Jump the split rail fence to the other side
Leap back in time to a buzzin' hive
Looks like the vortex, circa 1995
Can barely think amid the din
Perfect time for the ‘shrooms to kick in
Tie-dyed girl where I left her spinnin' in place
Band still playin' a trippy Drums n Space
But how strange that I cannot feel my face
How did twenty years vanish without a trace?
Tumbleweed twirlin' down the rutted street
Empty rocking chair swayin' skee-reet skee-reet
'Taters still steamin' like a mini-volcano
Room reeks of whiskey stronger than Drano
Spilled orange juice tricklin' a fly-food slurry
Someone cleared outta Free Verse Ranch in a helluva hurry
The clip-clop of iambic beats, Sheriff on my tail
He wouldn't shoot an unrhymed man, would he?
i prepared a simple supper
but with great love i cooked
that main meat of refined wheat
durum semolina, traded as rotini
an Italian pasta to go with beef, a grace
from a Canadian cow grazed in prairie grass,
spiced with herbs from the hunted tropics:
ginger, garlic, turmeric, and coriander
powdered, with red pepper powder
and red pepper crushed, black pepper
(also powdered), added to the onion
chopped, fennel, fenugreek, and cumin
(all seeds), and the magical mustard,
adding leaves chopped: basil, chives
and parsley, with garam masala, a Bharat
special, sprinkled with hardly a pinch of salt
before adding the slow-cooked African beans
and Mexican sauce: chopped and crushed tomato,
and boiled potato, after being sautéed
in the US canola oil to enhance the taste
of minerals and more already in my pan:
folate, iron, niacin, riboflavin, and thiamine
already mixed in carbohydrate, the main
with Chinese additives: citric, soy, and seasonings
unlisted; likewise the two sealed cans
that curtailed my sprinkling salt for supper
came with corn starch, sugar, more spices
and blackstrap molasses, and a poetic muse
There is a sour sound of lemons screaming
In a Venetian glass bowl on the sill
Each citric fruit sees the sweet thief stealing
But all stand perfectly still
I know the land where the lemon- tree flowers,
I have seen it's pretty blooms
And it has the fresh clean scent of you,
I've seen the pretty lemon citric fruit,
I love it's taste and its flavour
In the same way that I love the taste of you,
You are the taste that I choose to savour,
While comparing the prettiness and the shape of you.
I notice the lemon
Has the same smooth and shapely aspects glowing as you do,
The same fine texture
I really want to make you bloom,
Like the lemon-trees do,
In all their pretty adornment
Leaving me bamboozled,
By your fresh and zestful way
Who knew it would be lemons and you I crave,
We can share a pretty picnic
Under the lemon trees
In a land that is so pretty
Where I can stare so deeply
Into your deep and sumptuous pretty eyes.
I gave up breakfast
Not because I needed
To lose girth
Nor any extra
Avoirdupois
Nor because the time wasted
In feeding
Could have been better
Used
To solve the problems of the
Universe
Not because the eggs
Are high cholesterol
And the chicken sausage
Created from
Hapless victims in their
Sharp metal cages
Who never knew a
Better life
I gave up breakfast
Not because
I hold any grudge
Against sunny beaming faces
Babbling cheery “g’morning”
In the dark demented winter of
An empire in decline
Nor because
The aroma of fresh cooked
Pancakes
Serves up wistful memories of
Childhood innocence
Raped by the scam of
Maturity
And insatiable adult
Demands
Not because the grapefruit
Citric acid
Contributes to gout
That precipitates
Kidney stones
And leaves a grown man
Crying in a simulacrum of
Childbirth pain
Not because
Nor because
No
No
No......
No more need for morning meals
When your awakening kisses are
Marmalade
For my soul
And your warm perfume
Sprayed upon my lips
Transcends any butter roll
No more need for a morning beverage
Nothing orange, tomato, nor lemon
And your golden breasts are my
Nourishment
Made from flesh
Made from Heaven
I've got all of you in the morning
It’s a feast of your skin and hair
And the breath of your love
In my open mouth
And the taste of your love
In my open mouth
No croissant could ever compare.
I gave up breakfast
To make love
With
You
VIOLET, my passions so prescribed.
INDIGO, I follow her soul's desire.
BLUE, my companion so true to life.
GREEN, l am filled with envy.
YELLOW, the undignified distortions of life.
ORANGE, the bright citric passions in me.
RED, the depth of my Sincerity.
That's the rainbow of LOVE
12/4/2014
~Quince shaped houses landscape Julienned Street
where citric groans once molded a blue cheese night ~
In one home lives reclusive Graham and his wife, Coco,
two dilled, old pickles nervously living on the lamb.
Busted selling urine for addiction pee tests,
they agreed to flee from a legal barbeque.
Combining their bran, they landed on Julienned.
They peppered with fright when a repair man
fell down, done, dead and fried on their hall floor.
Even freaked, they managed to fully bake a plan.
They dragged his body with mixed moans and groans
to the cellar, filleted him and then designated
him the residents permanent cellar staple.
The world's a grand kaleidoscope
comprised of shuffled scenery.
It shares its everlasting grace
as we walk amongst its majesty.
Green geysers sprout from earthen springs
with herbal shards as ornaments.
The blossoms of the world parade
to the joy of floral increments.
Somewhere wet winds from sunken skies
are lapping at the copper shores,
while boiling citric blood erupts
from the depths of tawny mountain cores.
Small sugar stars come shooting down
from ivory puffs like joyous tears,
and raging river rapids roar
at the royal sky so crystal clear.
A veil of sable feathers whisks
across the evening's coral lake;
the sparkling sprites of moonlit night
promenade throughout its dusky wake.
The choral cries of quadrupeds
resound from caves and forests deep,
while busy pinion-folk take wing
to their nests where helpless hatchlings sleep.
A searing guild of golden tongues
cascades from mouths of ashen gales,
and passive clouds of floating dew
skim along the rugs of vernal vales.
A school of silver shadows dance
beneath cerulean sheets of glass,
while frail auroral arthropods
play amongst the rows of emerald grass.
Somewhere a frozen pyramid
is rising from a powdered sea,
while bright prismatic tapestries
serenade the heavens' purity.
The world's a grand kaleidoscope,
revolving, free from mortal strife.
Can not we learn to cherish it,
as we turn its fragile shades of life?
Horrendous Fruit
“Ah my eyes!” the acid sprays,
From the knobbly whorled display,
Of the thickened orange skin,
Pith and citric acid akin.
I take a bite of segmented fruit,
Cells explode and sour does too,
My eyes fall closed, My faces is scrunched,
As on the awful food I munch.
“One piece down!” I say with a sigh,
Surely this is how I die,
Biting on this horrid meat,
This one, I say, its got me beat.
As more skin I peel away,
That lovely orange like break of day,
Reveals itself with a suckling rip,
Where 'low the membrane lies a pip.
I steel myself and put it in,
Tastebuds protest a horrendous din,
Again and again my teeth crunch round,
Until, finally, the monster is down.
I hate the fruit, the way it grows,
Two are gone, too many to go,
A sway, on a tree, in the wind,
I pick when ripe, the stalk is thin.
But back to this horror, I want no more,
Tears of frustration begin to pour,
Thats it, I refuse to eat more, none.
With this fruit, I am done.
The Lorax is on top,
I wish it would stop.
All these bad and good memories,
of me and you.
The trees are all green,
and the water (like me) is blue.
The tree's tongues are tied,
and twisted,
searching for the place,
where the Lorax lifted.
If life give you lemons,
Well I guess you're blessed because,
Lemons raise the level of serotonin,
in the body,
The chemical responsible for making,
you happy.
I still feel crappy,
I squeezed a whole lemon into my water.
I'm still wondering how couples stay together,
when they barely have anything in common.
I'm still wondering like Tom Robbins in
Still Life with Woodpecker,
"How do you make love stay?"
And why does it go away?
I know I won't find out today.
I've got a thousand papercuts,
And the citric acid burns.
I'm fishing without worms,
Nightcrawler vision,
sinks inside my brain,
panic attacks,
and I can't stand the pain.
I wish I could turn back the hands of time,
but I can't,
so I'll trade one of my lemons,
for a lime,
cause I plan to drink this twelve pack,
of Corona with or without you,
I'm honestly trying not to feel blue.
By: Joseph DeMarco
One of the guest star of the dazzling celebration
Stands in a white lace tablecloth decorated table
Colorful flowers serve as eye catching attraction
Watering the taste buds of the present guests
Vanilla and dark chocolate swirls in the first tier
Ripe strawberries fill the second tier with sweetness
Lemon entices palate to taste the citric flavor third tier
Carrot and walnuts mix in the fourth tier with cream
Red devil's food adds a bright color to the fifth tier
Banana brings a tropical touch to the sixth tier
Luscious flavors invite to degust a slice of each tier
Buttercream rose swirls frosting add a romantic feeling
February 7, 2017
cyan blues indigo into nighttime
darkness scorches the soul to the core
hellfire’s charcoal embers
dissipate lightness of being
achromatic void
engulfs a self-fulfilling promise
rose petals wither by the wayside
trudged and treaded upon
flame red converts to burnt sienna
a mere shadow dances in the heat
hunter green pastels fade in exhaustion
an emerald pendant strings
a chafed neck in a choking embrace
mustard gold’s alchemy
folds citric sunflowers
away from its rainbow
where a pot of tar
repeats the circular path
suave mauve corrodes
into rust and necessity’s must
clusters indecision
and meaningless desire
the prism yields prison
and yet all colours
would merge into white
when the pail becomes
half full once again
and chakras confide
to the canvass
and the portrait of truth
Do not leave me ! -
I am repeating, as a prayer,
I dissolve, melt away in you,
Do not leave me !
Some ships go to a bottom somewhere,
The storms and the hurricanes of a life are too abrupt
But neither for one hour, nor for one minute
Do not leave me!
We shall speak about something,
We shall dream about something good.
You will give me Ceylon tea to drink,
And maybe, even we shall sing.
In the citric glow of the moon,
By night, between stars, to fly so pleasantly!
But in the morning we shall return into our bodies
To continue to look our dreams.
We shall listen to silence,
And to believe to a miracle of recovery,
And God's BLESSING...
Do not leave me!
P.S.
Do not leave me!
With you I know joy of a life.
If you will forget me - I shall melt
Dewdrops stream down boisterous
children’s freckle-strewn mischievous dials,
as they dash in cartoon costume faux denim
apparel amidst the pale yellow sunlight glare.
Marble stone button twiddle on a blue
rinse wrinkle t-shirt,
Sumptuous ice cream raspberry blobs
tantalise the cheeky taste bud imps
whose chocolate brown eyes swell with
every morsel glutinously gorged on.
Doting parents wantonly indulge
their dawn glow
offspring’s shrieks of antic wonderment,
the honeysuckle fragrance that
releases germ-stuffed
nostrils a portentous spring nectar booster
shot for folk and kin alike,
effervescent yodel from young sibling and the
young at heart zeal of golden realm guardians
elevated to this neon sign paradise,
purple sleeve lacquer layer hydrant, surreal spirit saviour
of parched embryonic throats.
Picklock to that universal perfume
cloud that hovers
over asphalt stain urn and
stoic mint green
pristine luscious lawn,
playground for the butterfly wing vernal innocent shrouded by an orange peel citric soft fruit haze.
Age span infant euphoric zoom on fountain spume,
where families in a Ferris wheel hubub rejuvenate the
lacklustre greyness of their far too often
monochrome existence.
Posted ; 4th May 2022
My little silver shooting star,
such energy you do possess:
A chilling, silky elegance,
from you, I would expect no less.
You twirl about me gracefully,
illuming, as I lay you down.
The planets play a raggish tune
while diamonds jive about your gown.
My little white marionette,
oh are you meant to play that part?
For there is not a single string
confining your resplendent heart.
You stagger-step so perfectly
into my orbital domain.
The Taurus comes to break our bond,
but quickly you restore the chain.
~That said, the Sun began to set,
awaiting mother Moon’s reply.~
My little flaming center piece,
so gentle is your citric light.
Your seared momentum shepherds me
to compass you throughout the night.
You never falter, though the dance
has rhythms far from uniform.
You brave the floor so passionately
with feet as skilled as you are warm.
My little spheric candlelight,
how is it that you grant me peace?
Perhaps it is your steady hand:
O may this feeling never cease!
You bend your knees as I bend mine;
such mimicry deserves great praise.
You are my other shining half
who lifts me up on golden rays.
~Together now, the two hold hands,
enveloped by each others glow.~
Our little black tranquility,
an endless plane for countless steps:
it’s here our joy first learned to dance,
a feeling we have always kept.
We set the shadow-sky ablaze
with symphonies of lows and highs.
Into the night, we scatter dust,
the twinkling-tango fireflies.
Our little distant chandelier,
a stellar lantern burning bright,
compelling and immensely grand,
we sway beneath its blessed light.
For us, there is no solo act:
our sep’rate ways we’ve never gone.
How could we ever not perform
the pas de deux of dusk and dawn?
~Eternally, the pair will last,
for night and day must always be.~
A little cosmic serenade,
the melody of time well spent.
Celestial bodies resonate
to compositions heaven-sent.