Best Daiquiri Poems
STRAWBERRY
Can you feel the warmness of the sun,
reflecting off the red tones of my hair.
The sun touching the edge of my toes!
My seasons true nature ignited by a layer of flares.
Can you feel the stars shine for me at night?
While the moon beams a color of envy.
Can you see me lost underneath the crimson tide in the clouds.
Some where out there my eyes wonder for you.
Can you feel the fresh bruise in my strawberry heart?
As it bleeds every day just for you!
Wondering if life can ever be sweet like sugar and glue.
Crying under the night and its skies is how it would seem.
Lost in a midnight red field in a forever dream.
Can you feel the texture of my wounds?
They feel rugged like rocky mountain sour berries.
Covered in daiquiri as I drown under the rivers current.
Attracting canaries to enjoy my wild strawberries.
Can you feel the wings of my broken dreams?
Here I am falling off the cliff and the feeling of love.
Abandoned like a batch of strawberries for its flaws.
Do you see me standing with a sad look.
Can I show you all them hammer hits I took.
That will be the end of story, to my book.
How my strawberries have beauty that you over looked.
by; p.d.
Boundless Blue
Born in a misty rainbow,
Blue slips out from her place
between her sisters Green and Violet,
painting the heavens azure,
covering the earth like the robe of Virgin Mary.
She floats into the ocean in a navy dress,
then waltzes on waves of the Danube.
Sailing the teal waters of alpine lakes,
she journeys to glaciers,
leaving her daiquiri-colored footprints on glacial ice,
taking some with her to cool the fires of Robert Frost.
She treads into meadows and gardens,
planting delphiniums, lupines, hydrangeas,
bluebells, and cornflowers to sprout in her wake,
with morning glories to climb fences.
People copy her free spirit,
painting their china in Delft and willow patterns,
sing “Blue Suede Shoes,” “Blue Velvet,”
“Blue Moon,” “Blue Hawaii,”
even play “Rhapsody in Blue” on their pianos,
blow their cobalt glass, dye their denims,
even their ice cream and candy.
They try to capture her lapis, turquoise, and royal sapphires,
pressing them into frames of silver and gold,
hanging them on chains.
She smiles at their craftsmanship,
then saunters down the path to the forest,
seeming to sway to her own swingy music.
With only her blue tick hound trotting beside her,
she picks wild blueberries, savoring the tart fruit
as its indigo juice runs down her fingers.
This poem was inspired by Meenakshi Raina's "Optimistic Orange". That poem is a great example of how fun it is to write about and personify a color. I encourage the rest of you to try it!
Contest: All Yours (May 5)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
5-5-21
Dutch cruller, rich and sweet,
Belgium chocolates, nothing like them.
Scottish kale, made into tasty broth.
New England crab, pride of the Atlantic,
Cuba’s sweet and sour daiquiri.
America’s tastiest eggnog, made instantly sour by the sight of one small dead titter mouse.
One teeny tiny mistake, but I may never drink eggnog again.
The Pensive Poet Contest sponsor Constance LaFrance written 8/4/26
Turquoise thoughts form
like peach perspiration
Sliding down my feverish face
Baked in a steamy shower of brain fog
Ideas fall in incomplete patterns
Like a red runaway train going no where
I get a little inspiration from fellow poet
Whose words flow fuchsia free with melodic ease
I bake and contemplate black cauldron
As my food of thought bank
Whimsical words are my magic wand
Which I use as a spoon to stir
My muse consuming cranberry daiquiri
Is wasted and no longer helping me
The night is cloaked with onyx vail
Saved by polka dots of silver stars
I reach for them in denim desperation
For what is a poet without a poem
If my wish is granted I too will write
Like the greatest poet upon the clouds
My teal torture will melt into a sea of creativity
Amethyst ideas like a new white wind
Washing away the lost thoughts
Starting a new purple poetic journey
There is a new focus on my path
I’m not the best or the worst but
I can love my heart song and tap into
The melody unique to my sandy soul
I can gather my emotions like a potion
Stirring you and me like a maroon melody
Not all who read will be moved
But for the fantastic few who
Visit me on writer’s block we shall persevere
And in due time writing sublimely
Guiding the runaway train to new destinations
Ode to the Madman
It was heaven in hell, both.
It was 115 degrees and I was in hell.
But heaven was in sweltering Palm Springs.
And I tasted nectar and ambrosia, both,
Under the dauntless palms.
I took in the majesty of the gods
As they bowed to each other,
Like kow-towing Chinamen in white robes.
I took in the flames and the feathers, both.
I took in the shadows and the spotlights of the stabbing sun.
The book was Women by Bukowski.
I lounged by the winking, blue-eyed pool,
Eyeing the half-naked women in bikinis,
Reading the drunken madman,
Sipping daiquiris on ice
Brought to me by the big-breasted beautiful girl
From behind the bar.
The way she walked as she brought me my drinks,
Was a Revelation and a turn-on, both.
It seemed, as I discerned from her big-breasted body language,
That she already knew the answers to life’s unasked questions.
That she had already traveled
To the farthest star in the galaxy.
That she had already tasted the wine of eternal wisdom.
Yes, it was the way she walked.
Bukowski would’ve smiled and said:
“Comon honey, let’s dance!”
I was in heaven and in hell, both.
It was 115 degrees, and I sweated.
But I saw paradise under the dauntless palms.
Ode to the madman!
“I sip this daiquiri in your name.”
Brought to me by the big-breasted beautiful girl
From behind the bar.
Calypso, Bèlè, Limbo, Reggae
And a Pool Boy, Called Lonny Ray
Margarita and Coolers, by The Bay
All With Umbrellas at Seaside Café’
Like Caribbean Pirates, Taking A Chance
Shaking Our Lala, Wining-Dance
Vacation Adventure, Love-Romance
Worth Every Penny of Check-Advance
Barbados, Tobago, Jamaica, Fun
Songs, Soca, Sand, Surf and Sun
Float To The Bar, in Another Run
Frozen Daiquiri, Screwdrivers, Coke and Rum
Xylophone, Steel Guitar, Cymbals, Steel Drums
Almost, Made Us, Want To Be Beach Bums
When Asked, Were We Happy, We Did Come ? …
… Yeah Mon, Yeah Mon, Yeah Mon, Yeah Mon !
No penance need be paid by the insular artisan
admonished for seeking an oral platinum quota.
Under furlough! Tuck their perfume in a bureau,
then intermittently release the poise to up-start
inferiority complexes who'll quote of the literati,
and then in the very same breath
naysay a quiver of emotion from word devotion…
Integral quandary - quaint ale or styled daiquiri?
Can phenomenal language fade in the simplistic?
Eloquence is gauche! So pilings of a quay erode…
(2/10/2021: DMS)
in intriguing little crime scene
we have here eh Inspector Marsupial
a freeway overpass whore's
cardboard box and mattress
and a paperclip necklace
juxtaposed on a dissecting table
at some point a losing strategy
has to be examined
even if the last conclusion is
that we are here to be punished
for being here
Marsupial searched his pachinko readout
acting on the assumption
that in at least one setting
he could juggle us a grand total
even if the light was sub visible
which you don't see every day
bottom line you're here growing scared
blame enough to go around
manipulators of fear with a plan
wreckers of civilizations
is there anything in us that is inviolate
he was a master of pedestrian insights
with a repertoire of a priorI assumptions
packaged for the pop psych tabloids
his mouth flapping like a puppet on a string
the official Government spokesman
for the natural state of man
comrades these are troubled times
but not like before
during the really troubled times
so relax it’s an alchemist's contraption
made from bed springs and spooge
proletarian gyro-chemistry in action
every atom wanting to go its own way
cause beyond knowledge or even sense
the problem with categories is that
some blank out and obliterate the others
the banana daiquiri
had apparently reached his thalamus
clean your spoon son
that's government chow
and so began the long loud logomania
you have before you now
my rabbI assures me this is therapeutic
inductive in deductive out
forehead wrinkles along for the ride
knowing what is out of place
dawn and the bust of Aristotle
juxtaposed upon a toilet seat
shoot me I said juxtaposed again
it's not the circus of consensus it used to be
last I checked slapstick is still dead
I'm pretty sure everything
can be described by numbers
there are enough of them for the job
wheel chairs killed the fashion show
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
The Girls Have All Agreed
On Some Things, All Women Need:
A Supply Source For Our Vanity
… and The Eveready-Flashlight-Battery …
Going Down A ‘Random’ Road
In The Deep of Night, When Life Has Slowed
Down … or Car Comes To A Stop
We Need An Energizer or Copper-Top …
In The Deep of Night, Trying To See
And Feel Safe, Thru Our Ambiguity
When We Need More Than Flicker-Flattery
… Give Us A Flashlight Battery …
… Your Flashlight Smile
Your Flashlight Style
Your Flashlight Confidence
Your Flashlight Manliness
Your Flashlight Ego
Is A Flashlight Hero
… and The Flashlight Form, Most With It
Is The Flashlight, Jared Pickett …
… Incorrigible, Adorable, Really More Than Capable
Hot, Poetry-Soup Staple And Palpable
With Appetites, Insatiable
Your Poetry is Quite Potent-Pleasurable
So, Flash On, Big Screen Valentino !
Lead On, With Lines of A Lothario
Casanova, Would Be Your Acolyte
( ‘Cause Even A Lady Needs A Flashlight )
Flash On, In Sensual-Satisfactory !
Give A Taste of Testosterone-Trajectory
No Girl Can Stand Before A Man, In All His Glory
This Is Factory-Tag… and It’s Man-datory
If Dura-Cell, I Got A Place For You
So, You Can Keep Doing, What Cha’ Do
And Power-Up, Like You’ve Alluded
‘Cause This Doll, Needs Batteries Included …
And Pour Me A Real-Strong Daiquiri
Put On Favorite CD, Slow-Dance, Track For Me
And Come Here, You Copper-Top-Skinned Honey
And Beat That Drum … You Energizer-Bunny
To: Jared Pickett … The Flashlight
and The Romeo Of Poet-Writes
This One’s An Original – Just For You Kiddo …
Your Poet-Pal,
The MoonBee
They have at least thirty-one flavors all the time.
Available are pistachio, rum raisin, and key lime.
Have you ever tried their strawberry or blueberry cheesecake?
In any single trip, how many flavors can you take?
Other than ice cream, they also have sangria or daiquiri ice.
Everything they have is cool, tasty, and nice.
This place offers variety in a plethora.
I can't believe that all you want is vanilla!
inspired by another member's poem
We've been all work for weeks on end
Barely punchin' out before we're punchin' right back in again
And it aint just the weather that's been growin' cold
I think a little R & R would be good for our souls
Can’t you hear the palm trees - swayin' in the breeze
Baby why don't you and me
Get our Beach on
Get our Beach on
Grab you flip flops if you got'em
And we'll get right to the bottom
Of our daiquiri cups - before the sun comes up
We'll get our beach on
Get our Beach on
I'll pack my guitar you Bring your smile
We'll have nothin' blue skies for miles and miles
Aint no better kind of therapy
To re-kindle that flame - honey we just need ...to
Get our Beach on
Get our Beach on
Grab you flip flops if you got'em
And we'll get right to the bottom
Of our daiquiri cups - before the sun comes up
We'll get our beach on
Get our Beach on
Moonlit walks in midnight sand
Heart to heart - hand in hand
your lips crashin' into mine
with our love set on island time
Get our Beach on
Get our Beach on
Grab youR flip flops if you got'em
And we'll get right to the bottom
Of our daiquiri cups - before the sun comes up
We'll get our beach on
Get our Beach on
Grab you flip flops if you got'em
And we'll get right to the bottom
Of our daiquiri cups - before the sun comes up
We'll get our beach on
Get our Beach on
there is no sunshine right now
you are in your world room looking at blankness with the tv blasting
there is no laughter right now
i am in another state of parking lot depression munching on greasy pizza slices while killing time
you are probably thinking about life without me and hating me so much in your quiet moments
i am chugging down a strawberry daiquiri sobe wishing you were just speaking to me period
when the dark is exposed to light, it better be something pretty in view
when the stale smell of 'woman-fed-up' is in the air, a plan b is like a nice butt and a great pair of legs
oftentimes forgotten are the roots of what won a heart and a mind's thought
comfort is overdosed and the brain cells are tainted by altered states of choices
eventually, there is that taste of asphalt or dog poop sometimes feared by a considerable percentage
laughter and sunshine are the least of worries....the work overloads all circuits
however at times, the alarm is cut off too late and the snooze button becomes the mistress of regret
I’ve heard it said we should have five a day
If healthy is how we desire to stay
I’ve planned my diet and so I can say
I’ll get five a day and I’ll be okay
I’ve ordered a cocktail with cherries in
And asked for some lemon - sliced - in my gin
My Bloody Mary with tomato juice
Has vodka, with olives put to good use
That’s how I’ll stay fit and live forever
Five a day’s easy, if you play clever
But you’re looking smug, “That’s just four,” you say
Well I’m not missing my quota today
Check out the bartender and you will see
I’ve ordered a strawberry daiquiri
Quiet quibbles with silence and hushed wind’s quackery.
Have nonsensical need for an ice cold daiquiri.
Chicanery of leafy season, coursing slowly,
before its blustery countermand uplifts wholly.
Monotonous quarrel needs a quaff of arctic air,
an unquestioning brisk of maple burning its flare,
Like brandy, in quiescent afterglow’s flirtation,
ho hum’s quadrant equips me for intoxication.
I’ll not be a crone, with quaking bones, beneath a pad
of sunset quilt. I’ll be cold. I’ll brave it. I’ll go mad
with cacophonous joy, kick the crispy depth of leaves.
Removal of sequacious grin. Broad smile Fall retrieves.
Soldiers of fortune caught in the construct
Captive foreign held in the menagerie
Shoulders abortion fought for my next salary
Now souls smoulder over their short daiquiri
I hate it when they’re mad at me
Tragedy had to be for a better tomorrow
War ages are coming
Prepare for the casualties
Rubble
And sorrow
Headlines a tad too hallow
Death still rages on casually
I guess it has to be
The delivery was free
Please don’t be mad at me
But whatever has to be has to be